Nothing to Knight
by Auron Belmont
Summary: Pre-Suikoden V. Kyle is an atypical example of a Suikoden knight. How exactly did he get to be a Queen's Knight? A series on his life from birth to knighthood and why he is how he is. Chapter 10 is here for you!
1. Child of the Alley

_First, a bit of explanation. I'd always liked Kyle and I play him in a Suikoden based RPG. After some group events, serious things happened to him that forced me to dig into his character. What I found intrigued me and I began building a past for him. It was a part of his character that went beyond, but didn't ignore, his playboy image. After a second playthrough of Suikoden V, I realized that it hints, but doesn't show entirely, the depths Kyle has. As I read more and more, it's what's implied about his character and how he became a knight that I thought was the most interesting._

_What kind of background does someone obviously not noble have and somehow manage to become a Queen's Knight? Here's one interpretation and I hope you enjoy this series! As I keep thinking, I'll keep writing about it, even after Kyle gets to be a Queen's Knight._

* * *

Quite a few men grumbled into their cups at the tavern on one of Lelcar's many isles. Some would say war to be the cause, or the infighting between the island factions. That would be incorrect. One couldn't say the weather to be the cause as being the southernmost city in Falena, it enjoyed the lion's share of warmth. Shipping stayed constant, no storms had destroyed piers in a bit.

So why the grumbling? As the disgruntled men shared the news, the answer seemed to be something more basic. Madame Hyacinth's House of Delights opened its doors to no one that night. One would think something most dire had shaken the city into the Feitas. Barkeeps offered their sympathies to their customers and privately made the most of their increased clientele, even if only for a night.

"One of th' ladies prob'ly had a kid. They always shut down outta respect," said a grizzled barkeep, wiping spilled ale with a cloth.

"I know I wouldn't want to spend my money if a kid's bein' born in another room." A soldier at the bar shuddered and sipped his drink. "Better hope the kid lives this time. Last time it was near a week they mourned."

"Either way, kid's gonna be a poor bastard if a boy."

"Literally." The soldier slid over potch to the barkeep. "Bet you 10 potch she's a girl and another 10 she dies."

"Hmm. Now there's a good game t' get th' lads riled up." Raising his voice, the barkeep waved his hands in the ear. "Step up, lads! Takin' bets about the newest whore's get at the House of Delights. Boy or girl, live or dead, place y' bets!"

Two older women washing dishes clean in the back of the tavern dried their wrinkled hands and listened to the commotion. "I hate it when he does that," one woman said. "Betting on a child's life."

"Think of it this way," replied her companion. "More money spent means more cut for us. I hope that child doesn't make it. What kind of life is a whore's child anyway?" Sighing, she tucked a graying lock of hair behind an ear. "Either boy or girl, they'll end up like their mother anyway."

"I suppose you're right. Hand me that burned pot, would you?"

In the darkest hour of night, a woman sat up in bed, sweat dampening her hair. Her clothes looked plastered on in the heat but she ignored all those things. Instead, she patted her newborn son's hairless head with a featherlight touch as he nursed.

The ladies of the House of Delights sat on either edge of the bed, cooing and offering their support to the new mother. "He's so perfect," said one.

"Now, now, girls, let's allow Rosemary some time to be with her son." Madame Hyacinth, an imposing figure in a royal purple bustier and a feather headdress, shooed away the girls. When they left, she pulled up a chair next to the new mother. "So. Now you're stuck with him. Tell me. Was it all worth it to have his baby?"

Rosemary didn't answer at first. She placed a cloth on her shoulder and hoisted up her son, patting him on the back. After a few moments, a hearty belch erupted from the little newborn. "Goodness! What a healthy sound."

Hyacinth reached over to pat the newborn's back, waiting for an answer.

"To tell the truth, I don't know what I feel. Sore, mostly. I know he's gone and won't be coming back, but I have his child. He left me something precious behind." Rosemary's blue eyes watered and she wiped them with her free hand. "I know I have caused you endless trouble because of my decision. But you understand, don't you? He was kind. He would have cared for this child were he alive."

Indeed, he would have. The passing mercenary wanted no one but Rosemary while his brigade remained in southern Falena. Whores scoffed at the concept of love until it appeared in front of them. He acted always the gentleman and speculation ran to when he'd take Rosemary away to someplace more "proper" for a woman. Then, about the same time Rosemary found herself with child, she'd received a note. Her man died on the fields of battle far away, but had written a will and given her all his potch. Determined to keep what remained of him, she used quite a bit of the nest egg to pay Hyacinth for the time she couldn't work.

Now an entire life with a new son stretched before her. Rosemary's resolve wavered. She couldn't just be a 20-year-old whore. She was someone's mother now. She'd do anything to give the child, his child, all she could.

Carrying the now drowsing baby, Hyacinth placed him in a cradle bought by a few of the girls, excited at the thought of practicing motherhood. Rosemary watched her, eyes tired and drooping.

"Have you thought of a name yet? His, maybe?"

The new mother shook her head. "That would be too much to saddle a child with. I haven't even thought about a name. Do you know of a good name, my lady?"

The madame considered this as she tied a cloth diaper around the little one. "Best to give him a good name. Let's see...ah! How about this? My husband's family, Sun rest his soul, told stories of an ancestor. General Kyle Liernest. Supposedly a canny old man but with good character and led his troops bravely."

"Kyle? Oh, that sounds like a good name. Sleep well, little Kyle." Rosemary sank deeper into her bed and fell into a deep slumber.

Hyacinth looked down at the sleeping infant. "Little Kyle, I give you a blessing, like those fairy godmothers do in the stories of old. Be a better man than the ones we usually see and me and your mother will be happy."

So named, Kyle slept the rest of the night, tired from being born into a new place.

"Yup, so 'tis. Delivered early even. Here's somethin' extra for your trouble, kid."

Four-year-old Kyle caught the potch coins neatly and grinned. "Thank'ee mister." He slipped the coins into a special pouch sewn into his tunic. No one living in the back streets of Lelcar kept money in pouches or pockets lest it be stolen. Kyle opted to keep rocks in his pockets just in case he needed to chase off anyone suspicious.

The irregularity of meals and money did little to repress a genuine love of life. Surrounded by the pagodas of the nobles and the run down tenements of the poor folk, he grew and thrived. The prostitutes and the destitute were his neighbors and sources of wisdom. Kind weather allowed both groups to eke out a living even if their home depended on where they slept that night.

Fortunately for Kyle, his mother earned enough money to rent a small set of rooms in warehouse. He normally would head that way after running messages for taverns and bars, but his mother had a client. That meant work and she did not want to be disturbed while working.

His mom kept a level head over many things, but she scared Kyle with her anger and insistence he stay far away from her while she worked. So he didn't quite know _what_ she did, but it involved Men visiting her and offering money for something only she could do with her body. Sometimes she would be tired after work, other times pleased with a job well done.

By the angle of the shadows of the alley, it still wasn't time to go home, so Kyle wandered his way to Auntie Hyacinth's place. If the ladies were in a good mood, he might get a few treats to give to mom.

"Oh _hello _Kyle! Come to pay a visit?" Ivy, a woman draped in greens, poked her head out the window of the House of Delights. Her hair lay straight on one side and tangled on the other.

"Yup! Can I come in?"

"Give me a second. The other girls would love to say hello as well."

Minutes later Kyle sat at a table in the bustling parlor, munching on not too stale cake. Ladies in various states of makeup and undress looked at mirrors and in slow steps, transformed themselves into creatures ready to serve Men. All of them, named after various flowers and herbs, knew Kyle and knew his mom.

"You know, it's a shame Rosemary moved down the way. I understand the need for privacy for a child but he could be a big help," said a girl named Carnation, wrapping her torso in pink flimsy gauze.

"Can't mess with a mother's wish." This from an older woman who helped the girls into costume and cosmetics. "Besides, she probably doesn't want the clients thinking he's for sale too."

"We're not that kind of place. It's the House of Delights, not Heart's Desire." At the statement from Ivy, all the girls murmured agreement. In as much as Kyle understood, Heart's Desire catered to Men who wanted little children for the same reasons other Men liked ladies. Every woman on the avenue threatened to beat him bloody if he ever so much as walked in front of that particular establishment.

"I really wish they would shut that place down." Thorn, one of the few men (not Men) who served as bouncer and occasional help for special clients, entered the room and shut the door. He pulled a chair and sat down, cradling his head in his hands.

"Mister Thorn, what's wrong?" Kyle asked, swallowing his cake.

"They caught another one of _those _skulking around that part of town. Feitas and the Sun." Thorn's broken voice caught the attention of every lady in the room, who stopped what they were doing to comfort the man.

Kyle's blue eyes widened. Everyone knew what _those _were. Sometimes Men were especially mean and vile and liked to beat women to a pulp. Usually it was before, during or after having paid them for their services. The ladies of the evening trembled in fear when a Beater and Killer stalked the streets.

"Did the guards catch him?"

"How many did he kill?"

Thorn's voice sunk to a whisper. "Five girls and a boy before the guards got to him. What's worse, not even all of them _worked _at Desire. One of them was Kail, the fisher's son down the way. Wrong place at the wrong time and..."

A wail erupted from a few throats, one of them Kyle's. He'd just talked to Kail two days ago when they spent time throwing rocks at the birds by the shore. They'd had such a good time! "Oh, oh Kyle, was he a friend of yours? Oh honey, baby..." Ivy put an arm around his shoulders.

Hiccuping his sobs, Kyle cried into the whore's shoulder. Beaters and Killers were such vile, evil Men. He missed how the Lelcar guardsmen caught the Man, still crying over his lost friend.

"What the Feitas gives, the Feitas takes away," Thorn murmured. Everyone echoed the sentiment.

"Sun above, I don't know how we're going to get any work done today. Oooh!" Carnation stamped a foot. "If there's a public hanging, I say we all throw rocks at that dark-hearted bastard!"

"I agree. Kyle, you better get home to your mom. The streets will be unsafe while this news ripples around and you wouldn't want your mom to worry." Ivy wiped his eyes with a lacy handkerchief and patted his cheek. "There'll be a ceremony later for your friend, I'm sure. We'll be sure to let you know when it is."

"Thank you." Lacking any appetite now, he wrapped the remainder of his cake in a napkin and tucked it into his pocket. He shook the rocks around to make room and not squish the gift for his mother.

"Kyle, I better take you home. I'd hate to have you wander the streets right now by yourself. Ladies, tell Madame Hyacinth I'll be a little late." Thorn swiped his eyes angrily with his arm and stood abruptly from his chair. "Let's go."

Waving goodbye and getting a few hugs from the ladies, Kyle followed, taking hold of Thorn's hand. Glad of adult company, the child didn't let go. It appeared the story about the murderer had run rampant in the street as no one traveled alone. Ladies in their evening wear kept together like schools of shimmering fish.

Uncertainty crushed his chest for breath. Beaters and Killers, the visitors, the troublemakers, all of them were Men. Spoken in equal parts scorn for their behavior and reverence for their coin, they represented a great unknown in Kyle's life. Some Men could be kind, most were ignorant, a few liked to bruise the ladies. In the mornings it wasn't uncommon to see the ladies rub bloodshot eyes, shake off the experiences of the night before to square themselves away for another day of earning coin.

All Men did revolved around women, using them, hurting them, paying them and then tossing them aside. Not many peeps of complaints could be heard, but you could tell the truth from a downturned glance, a bruised cheek. Kyle squeezed his eyes and wished to be a woman. If being a boy meant turning into a Man, he wanted no part of it. Maybe there was a trick to avoid growing up a Man. Thorn lived like one of the ladies and suffered with them as a man.

"Thorn?"

"Hmmm?"

"Can I be like you?"

Thorn stopped in his tracks. "Why in the name of Feitas would you want that?"

"I don't want to be like the Men. You're not like them; you're strong and kind. Do I have to work with Auntie Hyacinth for that?"

Apparently the question caught the bouncer off guard for he thought about it, tongue poking into his teeth. "I admit, Madame Hyacinth is a fair hostess and treats all the same. But you don't have to be like me to be strong and kind. If you were going to be like me, you'd have to serve clients and I don't think your mother wants you doing that."

Oooh. Kyle forgot about that. Serving clients meant serving Men. "But maybe when I'm bigger, it'll be all right. I don't want to be a bad man when I'm big."

Thorn knelt down in the street and placed both his hands on the child's shoulders. Kyle stood still when his caretaker touched his matted blond hair, bound into a tiny horsetail at the nape of his neck. "You know, you will probably grow up and turn heads the way the ladies do if you were cleaned up."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm. But I have a hunch you won't like serving men the way I do. It's bad enough doing it when you don't mind halfway. It's terrible when you're doing it just for the sake of coin. That's not a good way to be a good man."

The uncertain note in his voice prompted Kyle wrap his arms around the older man. "You're plenty good! That's why I want to be like you!"

"Oh, child." Kyle didn't understand why Thorn sounded like he was about to cry, but he kept hugging his caretaker until the older man let go. Sniffing, he stood up. "Thank you. But I think if you don't want to work like I do and you don't want to be a person who beats up on women, you'll need to be a different kind of man."

"Oh." Taking hold of Thorn's hand once more, they walked the rest of the way to his mother's house in silence.

That evening, Kyle presented his mother with the stale cake in his pocket. He puffed up as his mother patted his head and told him thank you. She looked tired and her lips bruised, but no great marks across her face or arms. "I'm glad Thorn walked you home. I'd hate to have anything happen to you, my little Feitas fish." The nickname referred to Kyle's love of jumping into Falena's great river and swimming like he belonged there. "I'm sorry that your friend was killed. We'll both go together to the ceremony and throw flower petals on the river. He'd like that."

Kyle nodded. Everyone knew, or at least said, when you died, your soul sunk into the Feitas and traveled a special tributary to wonderful lands beyond life. The flowers thrown on the river would sink and the soul would catch them, knowing they were missed and loved by those still alive. "Mommy, I want to know something important."

"What's that, dear?" Rosemary cut mold off a chunk of bread and placed a few scraps of meat on top, making dinner.

"Will I be bad when I grow up?"

The knife in Rosemary's hand clattered to the table. "Why in the world would you think you'd grow up bad?"  
In fits and starts, Kyle pieced together the convoluted mess of his thoughts to his mother. "So if I don't want to be a Man and Thorn says I can't be like him, what can I be?"

His mother didn't answer at first, continuing to put together portions of meat and bread and dividing it between them. After they ate the meal in silence, Rosemary wiped her hands on her shift. "I think you should grow up to be a good man. Not like Thorn, but your own kind of good man."

"How do I do that?" Kyle brightened. He should have talked to his mom before! She always knew the answer to everything.

"Here's what I think you should do if you want to be a good man and not like the kind you see here in the neighborhood. Treat women with respect and kindness. For the women here, we get so many who think little of hitting and hurting. Never make a woman cry if you can help it at all. And if you can, help a woman in need. I think if you do all those things, you will truly be a good man. Like..." She trailed off, closing her eyes.

"Like who?"

"Like a kind man I once knew. He visited the neighborhood, but he did all the things I just told you. I liked him a lot and knew he was a better man. But...he died before you were born. I think you would have liked him a lot."

"Well, if he was good, I would like him," Kyle said, sounding most self-assured for someone only four. "If he made you happy, mommy, he was good!"

His mother smiled and hugged him hard. "Yes. Yes he was. You try your very best to be like that kind of man, okay?"

Why did everyone sound like crying today? The Beater and Killer made everybody very scared, he decided. Gripping his mother tight he said, "I will, mommy. I promise to be a good man."

Twirling the broomstick in his hands, Kyle grinned to himself. After delivering messages for two years and more, one of the bar keepers started giving weapons lessons in thanks. True, it was just using a broom, but the old man said anything could be made a weapon if you thought hard enough.

Not everybody carried a sword or could be skilled enough to use one, but nearly every house had a broom. Why not use what you already have? The words still rolled around in Kyle's mind. He was just glad his mom let him take lessons from the bar keeper. At six years old, he couldn't be pushed around as much. He'd taken his promise to heart and done whatever he could to help his mom and the ladies of the House of Delights.

He'd be a different man then the Men. It was all a part of Kyle's hazy plan. If he didn't want to be like those Men and he didn't want clients like Thorn, he'd take another way. The bar keeper told him he might get really tall and strong as he got older. Both things were good for using weapons. If he got bigger and stronger and more skilled at things besides broom sticks, he could be a bouncer, guard or soldier in town. He'd make enough money and get his mom someplace far away so she'd never have to worry about serving clients again. She'd do something...momlike. Make clothes or cook. Something like that. It'd all work out.

Maybe if he got more money, he'd take Thorn and Ivy and Auntie Hyacinth all away. Yeah, that'd be even better! They'd all live together in one house with the money Kyle would make being a good man.

Sidetracked with his visions of the future, he got home late, the night a few hours old. So eager to tell his mom his plans, it didn't dawn on him at first when the warehouse door opened at a simple touch. His spine prickled when a shard of broken glass nearly pierced through his rope sandals. Someone had broken the lamp in the hallway. "Mom?"

Nothing. Odd. Maybe there'd been an accident? Squeezing through crates and turning a corner led to their rented room. The door hung at a crazy angle, barely connected to its hinge. "Mom?" Kyle asked again, fear tinging his voice.

A soft sound. "Mom!"

The rope soles slapped into something wet. In fact, illuminated in the rapidly fading light of a broken lamp, the walls shimmered with wet. Had there been a flood? Nothing seemed to piece itself together in his head. Why was his mom's bed shredded, feathers strewn everywhere? Who broke all the dishes? He whimpered where he stood, unable to move.

"Mommy? Why are your legs bent like that? Did you fall?"

His mom leveled her body up a fraction with her arms. Though streaks of darkness ran through her hair, it didn't affect the cool clarity of her eyes, the same shade of blue he inherited. "Kyle...oh..."

"Mommy, I'll go get help!" That much was understood. Thorn or Madame Hyacinth would know what to do! They always knew what to do!

"No...Kyle...false...false..."

Oh! He knew what she wanted to say. Ignoring the trembling in his hands, he swept away the wreckage of their closet. Ruined costumes and rent tunics landed on the ground to soak up the wet. If you didn't know it was there, you'd never know about the false wall in the bottom of the closet. Inside sat a leather drawstring purse filled with emergency potch and a few necklaces of his mom's. "Okay! I got it, mom!" Just like they planned, he slipped it over his head, around his neck and under his threadbare tunic.

"Kyle...my baby..." Riveted by her eyes, he couldn't help but stare. And kept staring at the mess. "...run..."

"But, mom!"

"_Run like the wind! Don't let him catch you!_"

Nearly tripping over discarded clothes, he ran for the door, scurried through the hallway and bolted into the night. Blind animal panic took over as he raced turn after turn through the Lelcar slums. Two words haunted his mind, in time with his frantic gasps for air.

Beater. Killer. Beater. Killer. Don't let him catch you! _Don't let him catch you!_

Wheezing, he finally halted his breakneck sprint in a deserted alley. Even he didn't quite know where he'd ended up. He scraped his sandals against a wall, trying to get off that terrible liquid soaked into the rope. He had to find the House of Delights or even the old man at the bar. They'd know what to do.

That's right. They'd know what to do. Kyle forced himself to calm down. He didn't want to leave his mom there, but with a Beater and Killer, you couldn't fight him! He did exactly what his mom always taught him in case of emergency. Their treasures were safe, hanging under his tunic. She'd told him to run and that's what he did. If he didn't know where he was, no way the Beater and Killer could know either.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? A little street urchin, hmm?"

Yelping, Kyle whirled around. A tall man with shoulder length dark hair leaned against the entrance to the alley. Not much more could be seen, save he seemed to be clothed better than a denizen of the streets. The stranger's face lit up when the naked blade he carried in his grip caught the light of the moon. "Or maybe...you look familiar."

Kyle edged into the shadows of the alley, moving backward step by slow step. His chest throbbed in time with his laboring heart.

"Yeah, you look familiar." The man shifted his sword to his shoulders, slapping the dull edge against his clothes. "You got her eyes and you kinda look like her." The sharp edge of the blade didn't reflect as much light, coated with something dark.

For every reason and no reason at all, Kyle's mind flashed back two years ago when he heard the fisherman's boy met his end. Now it was his turn. Not even Thorn, the bravest man he knew, could save him now.

The stranger stalked into the alley, laughing to himself. "So that whore bitch had a little whore son, hunh? Tell me, boy, do you give a good lay like her? How do you take it, hunh? You can tell me."

Frightened to stillness, he couldn't move, couldn't speak, not even when the Beater and Killer sprinted forward and grabbed his tunic. Right over his mother's treasured money pouch. "Aha! So that's where it is! Left it with her whore son. _Give me the money!" _The Beater pinned Kyle to the wall and tickled the blade at the child's throat. "Give it to me now if you don't want to die!"

_Don't want to die! Don't want to die! Don't want to die! No, no, no, no!_

_Remember, son, anything can be a weapon if you think hard enough._

Snapped from paralysis, the child reached into pocket. Didn't he always carry rocks in case this happened? They were weapons! Fueled by fear, he threw chunks of stone at the Beater's face, striking him near the eye. "God DAMN!" The sword clattered to the ground.

Kyle slid down to his rear end, lacking any strength to stand. He'd hit the Beater enough to send him reeling for a moment. _Anything can be a weapon. _He reached over for the sword. Wrapping his hands around the hilt, he managed to lift it barely off the ground before it fell.

"Oh, I'd say you're beyond dead now. I'm going to cut you up like your mom and get off on your corpse. Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? _Die you little shit!_"

A primal urge to _live _surged through Kyle's body. With a heave of his entire body, he swung the sword high into the air. It stayed there, sheathed in the flesh impaled on its length. The Beater looked down at the steel impaled in his gut and fell on his back.

Unable to turn his eyes away, Kyle's trembling hands scrabbled behind him, trying to pull himself up. "You...no...way...stabbed by...a little kid? Ha...ha...no way...." The Beater groaned and ripped the blade from his gut. "Little...shit...lost count...how many whores...I got...but I get done in...by a stupid kid?"

The rambling of the Beater, since meeting him in the alley, made little sense while it happened. Now, with his thoughts catching up to the present, something cold cracked open in his heart. "You...you hurt my mommy."

"Oh..s-so...saw that, did you? Yeah. Got that bitch good." The Beater winced and tried to sit up.

"You hurt a lot of women." Small hands picked up the hilt of the sword again. "You're one of those bad Men." Kyle looked down at the wretch of a Man and swung the blade up high. "You're never hurting them again."

"What the...what the hell...what's wrong with your eyes?!"

_Crack._

With barely a ripple in the water, the child swam away from the island of his birth and set out for a new one. Not a far swim for anyone, as many islands formed the town of Lelcar. Kyle swam for the nearest one. His mother had taken him shopping once when they'd been really good with money. Maybe that would be a safe place.

He didn't have anything else now. His mom, his friends, his life, they were all gone. He left behind his soaked sandals and spattered tunic, stuffed at the bottom of a dump heap. All he had was a loincloth and his mom's precious bag of treasure. His mind didn't, or couldn't, comprehend what he'd done. The most important thing now was finding a place to hide.

It felt good to swim. His mother always said the Feitas washed away everything bad and left it pure again. Kyle stopped swimming and sank underwater.

_Oh Feitas, let me be clean. That's all I want._


	2. All Alone On His Own

For a day Kyle skulked in the alleys, one dirty urchin among many. Crawling through trash to find food and an overlarge tunic covered his skin in filth and dulled his blond hair brown. His mind, like his body skittered restlessly, circling but never quite touching on the terrible, horrible thing.

Upon reaching the shore of the island, the child found a place to squeeze his body in and curled into a ball. Sure that the heavens would erupt and the Sun would flame him to a char, he hid and rocked, hid and rocked. By the end of his fit, he couldn't remember what had happened. Whenever he tried, he became restless for action. He couldn't stop from poking at what the terrible thing might be, any more he could stop poking a scab.

Late in the evening, Kyle found a place to sleep, a crawlspace between two taverns. He ate a half-finished sandwich stolen from a restaurant's trash and listened to the noise of the patrons. The buzz of conversation outside slowed his internal restlessness in small degrees.

"Gods, you heard the news?"

Kyle jumped. It sounded like the voice came right over his shoulder, but no one was there. There must be a table or booth right next to the wall. Still bolting down his food, the child leaned closer to listen.

"Who hasn't? It's been all over the city. Someone knocked off Wicked Wallace! Guardsmen found his corpse this morning stinking up the air in an alley." This voice sounded older and he slammed down a glass on the table.

"I heard the guardsmen themselves did it!" The first man sounded younger. Kyle liked that voice. Yes, of course some guardsmen killed a bad person. That's what they did.

"Nah, that's not it. They found the corpse, I tell you. My son's in the guard and he heard it from his commander how it happened." After that, it became hard to make out any individual voice. Everyone in the tavern seemed to talk right next to Kyle's listening spot. Finishing his sandwich and licking his hands, he waited for the patrons to continue.

"All right!" The older man settled the crowd with his authoritative shout. "Everyone knows Wicked Wallace has a wanted list on him as long as he was tall. Robbery, rape, murder, you name it! Day before last, he goes on a spree, stealing and killin' some whores. He ends up in an alley and he meets his end there."

"What'd he go into the alley for?" someone asked.

"Probably going to hide his loot in a secret place," the young man replied. Men and women said "aye." "But then he meets somebody and he's killed! Maybe that guy wanted his loot instead?"

"Nah, weren't that. My son says all the things Wicked Wallace stole were left on him. And here's the kicker. Whoever did it killed the son of a bitch with his own sword!"

Kyle waited in the crawlspace with baited breath. The bad thing, the terrible thing loomed up inside him...

"If I knew who did him in, I'd shake his hand and buy him a beer!"

...and the feeling melted to nothing.

"Aye! Whoever killed him did this town the greatest service in years!" the young man exclaimed. A dozen voices raised up in agreement.

The child sat stunned, the horrible churning in his mind halted. So the terrible thing was really a good thing? But his mother, poor mother, said killing was wrong.

"Lots of restless spirits are avenged with his death. I think that person knew exactly what he was doing," said the old man. "Looks like first he stabbed him in the gut, hacked him up some in the body, stomped his face to a bloody pulp and here's the kicker! He _drove _the bastard's sword right into his own balls!" Patrons whooped it up in laughter. "That man should be proud. He avenged the deaths right proper."

Eyes watering, Kyle didn't bother to wipe them away. Relief flooded his veins. Oh, that's what he did. It just _seemed _like a terrible, horrible thing. The bad man hurt his mom and he hurt the bad man. He _avenged _the pain of his mom and everyone else.

"You keep sayin' 'he' did it. Couldn't it have been a woman? Maybe a friend of those whores?"

"Nah, they wouldn't have had the strength to lift the blade. Obviously it was a man out there trying to make the world a better place. Course if the guards ever find out who it was, that man'd be arrested."

Arrested?! Kyle squeaked in his hiding place.

"But he's bein' smart, he is. He'll never take the credit for it so he'll never get caught. Let's raise a toast, folks! To the bravest man in Lelcar, thank you for avenging the dead."

"Here here!"

His hands clapped together in happiness. He had no idea he'd done something so wonderful! But like the old man said, he couldn't say he did it or he'd be in trouble. Fear gone, it still hurt his head to try and remember how he'd properly avenged everyone in town. Maybe that was okay. It wasn't okay to kill, but it was okay to kill the very bad and wicked, as long as you were avenging someone.

Kyle reached in his shirt and patted the precious drawstring bag. "Don't worry mom," he whispered to it. "I'll buy some flowers for you and throw them in the Feitas. I'll try not to kill anybody unless they really need to be killed." Prayer said, he curled into a ball and let the constant noise lull him to sleep.

* * *

_Earlier that day..._

The door to the office thumped again. Volga sighed and set aside his paperwork. Bad enough he was starting to take on some of his father's work on the largest of the eastern islets. Worse still his parents decided to take a vacation to Sable and hell seemed fit to break loose. "If this is another murder, I don't want to hear it."

For a blessed moment, Volga thought his prayers might be answered. Instead, the door opened. "Sir Volga?" A woman dressed in a city guard uniform peeked her head in. "We just got word from the central islet captain. Wicked Wallace was found skewered in an alley in the whore district."

"What?!" Hell had broken loose in the form of a serial rapist and murderer. "Wicked" Wallace was too tame a moniker for that demon. Finally a week and half of tension snapped with one death. "Is he dead?"

"Very, sir. Central islet's leaders want to chat with you."

"What for?" He shoved his paperwork on his desk. "If he's dead, it's a huge relief for everyone."

"Dunno, sir. They just want you around."

"Fine, fine." Irritated, Volga swept up his money pouch and manor keys with one hand. "This doesn't change anything with the kids. Keep them in the grounds until I know for sure what the hell is going on."

The guard quirked a smile. "You got it, Volga."

Grumbling, he ignored the calls of greeting from the various orphans on the manor. He stopped grumbling long enough to give the youngest of them, a girl of three years old, a brief hug and a promise of story time later in the evening.

Dealing with kids left him with little time of his own, however, he didn't mind so much. Growing up the pampered and wealthy son of well-to-do islet leaders, Volga never wanted for anything. A few trips to other islets and their back alleys teeming with homeless haunted him as a teenager.

It started a series of fights with his parents on how best to help the orphans of Lelcar. In the process, it sharpened his skills at debate and raised the level of his voice. After weeks of his pleas, his parents caved in: if he wanted to care for the homeless so badly, he could do it on his own potch.

Fine, he said. His parents hadn't been specific enough in their capitulation, so Volga took full advantage of the situation and housed the orphans on the manor grounds. A former guest house became the home of the orphans. Two years of this program softened his parents hearts enough to where they started looking around with him for likely children who needed a place to stay.

At seventeen, Volga was barely an adult, still a child in the eyes of the city leaders. _I bet they're all pissed to have me come along. I'm pissed too, dealing with a bunch of whiny old men and women, _he scowled to himself, stomping his way to the meeting site. Never mind he was relieved someone killed the killer. He suspected the meeting had to do with how brave and wonderful the central islet was in dealing with the menace.

_If that's the case, I think I'll tell 'em if they were so good at policing themselves they wouldn't have let a notorious killer go on a spree. Screw those bastards. All they were worried about was how a killer would lower business. I bet there's not one peep about the poor whores murdered._

Upon arriving at the meeting site, Volga took one look at the gathered leaders and bit his tongue. The uneasy shuffling and murmuring under the blazing sun set his own nerves to edge. "My parents gave me responsibility for running the western islet. I was doing a good job of that until this happened. What's going on?"

"It would appear that the young need to take a lesson in patience," said a man in charge, a lackey wearing Lord de Beers colors.

_Godwin bootlicker. _"Looks more like you need to sum up a situation quicker," Volga retorted. "Why is everyone uneasy?"

In fits and starts, guardsmen and other city leaders pieced together the situation. Cold crept down his spine and settled in his stomach. Some ingenious person decided to take out the criminal but in a way that said "I'm far worse than he ever was!"

"We have no leads on a suspect for the slaying of Wicked Wallace. While popular rumor has it one of the people of the slums did him in, it's possible there may be another round of killings," finished the lackey. "Have all your islet patrols out in force. If we can catch this suspect before he decides on killing anyone else, we can save more lives."

Volga bit back another retort. With no possible description of this new killer, anybody was fair game, with anyone meaning the well-to-do of Lelcar. No wonder the Godwin camp finally decided to do something about it. He'd have to play along, of course. More patrols and he'd make damn well sure all the kids were safe at night.

_Dammit, why did my parents have to go on vacation now?!_

_

* * *

  
_

Kyle's stomach growled to the point of distraction. He sat down, waiting for the sickening wave of hunger to pass. Maybe he ate something a few days ago that hadn't been good. Or maybe he caught something going around. Either way, as hungry as he was, he didn't feel like having it come right back up again.

The ladies of his home streets would say throwing up all the time was something bad. Sometimes when that happened, months later, the ladies would have babies. The child giggled to himself. _Does it mean I get to have a baby?_

What a silly thought. But he liked it better than the terrible horrible thing. The terrible horrible thing that meant you could only kill in revenge. He couldn't piece how one thought connected to the other, only that it did.

Feeling a little lightheaded but no longer hungry, Kyle stood up, clenching the stained package in his hands. He peeked around an alley corner to the riverfront. The Sun edged down in the sky, painting everything pink and gold. The rivermen in their canoes rested for the evening meal, but the evening traffic had yet to begin. It was a perfect time.

Instinctively, the child kept to objects he could hide behind as he darted across the open. When no danger swooped down to take him away, he ran for the nearest pier and stopped at the very edge. "Hi Mom," Kyle said to the river. "It's me. I'm trying to be good."

The Feitas running below his feet offered no comment, but continued its unhurried flow. To Kyle it looked so clean and beautiful...

He started, realizing he'd either fallen asleep or just fallen out of awareness for a few moments. His skin burned hot. He'd have to take a dip in the river later, but he had to do this really important thing first.

"Mom, I got you something. I don't know if they did one already 'cause you told me to run and I did so I didn't know. Here you go. I hope you like 'em." Kyle ripped the package apart.

Flower petals of all colors and stages of decay floated in the wind. For a moment, a most colorful snowfall pattered down on the surface of the river. "Aren't they pretty, Mom?"

Kyle thought they were pretty. Very pretty. His feet wavered on the pier's edge.

"Guess what? I'm going to have a baby just like you. I'll teach it to be big and strong."

_"Of course you will, Kyle."_

"Mom?" Kyle leaned down to look at the river. "Can you hear me?"

_"You're gonna have a baby! How wonderful! What are you going to name it?"_

"Dunno." Man, he felt so tired and the petals danced across his eyes. "But I'll teach it to be good. Only kill when it's revenge 'cause that's when it's okay, right?"

Her eyes softened. _"Just right, baby. Now come here."_

When his mother wanted him to do something, he usually didn't argue too much.

He didn't argue now when his body fell from the pier into the depths of the Feitas.

* * *

Lelcar breathed easier. At least it seemed so to Volga. No more killing of whores, no additional killings of the wealthy and best of all, his parents had returned from vacation. Sun and Feitas, he could put off being an islet leader for a year or two more after that! He didn't even mind running a few menial errands like shopping for dinner.

While pausing to adjust his marketplace load, Volga caught sight of a dance of petals. In the middle of the petals, standing precariously on the edge of the pier, a dirty child lifted his hands in the air. In a few moments, every last drop of color landed in the Feitas.

He'd heard about this custom. His charges told him how the poorer classes in some of the islets released flowers into the Feitas as a way to send of the dead._ Damn. I wonder if this kid lost someone...wait a minute._

The child swayed, nearly falling into the river. From the distance, Volga saw the child's lips move as though talking with someone. Growling, he walked with a measured stride toward the pier. For this kid's sake, there'd better be some other parent around. Then again, there was still room at the orphan house, wasn't there.

_Oh gods no, my parents will kill me._ Yet, Volga couldn't stop his feet from taking him down the pier. "Hey kid! Where's your parents?" he asked.

The child didn't answer. His body fell with boneless grace into the Feitas.

"Aw shit!" In hindsight, he realized the cook should have gotten the food for tonight's meal. Then again, maybe she still could, providing she could sort out all the packages thrown across the pier in Volga's haste to leap into the river.

* * *

As predicted, his parents screamed bloody murder. In retaliation, Volga screamed back. With that out of the way, all parties worked to save the life of the very sick little boy.

Three days of bed rest, medicine and care seemed to do the trick as the little urchin finally opened up his eyes. "Damn, kid, you almost gave me a heart attack and I'm not even old!" Volga said.

"Where is this?"

"This is my house. Actually, this is a house on the manor grounds." Volga sat back in his chair. "I saw you out on the pier. You fell in the river."

Kyle remembered that part. His mother called out to him...but maybe he dreamed that. His mother couldn't help him anymore. He avoided Volga's gaze, scrunching up the covers in his fists.

"You were saying goodbye to someone."

_Goodbye Mom. _He hoped she got all the flowers wherever she was now. "Mom."

"Your mother? What happened?"

The terrible horrible thing started clenching his chest. Kyle whimpered and reached up to touch the special drawstring bag. Nothing hung around his chest.

Volga winced at the earsplitting scream. His breath caught when the child gripped his hair tightly with his fingers and threatened to pull it out. _"Whereiswhereiswhereisit!"_

With haste, Volga ran for the room's wardrobe and pulled out a little leather pouch. "Is this what you need? It's right here." As soon as he placed it in Kyle's hands, his screeching ceased. "I'm sorry, kid. I just put it in here to be safe. I wasn't going to take it."

Kyle gripped his mother's pouch for life and cried. He cried like a sniveling snotnosed baby. "She...she...she...told me to run...to run...he was coming...was coming a-a-a-after me!"

"Someone was coming after you?" Having dealt with street children for two years, he'd learned a few things. One of which was to restrain the impulse to just hug a child. As much as he wanted to help, he was a stranger.

"A big...b-b-b-big scary man with a sword. He...he said he was going to kill me! But I ran! Mom said to run so I did! Mom!"

Volga wracked his brain. He'd heard of no killings in the last few days. Unless of course, the scary man was... "Oh gods," he murmured. None of the officials could get a true death count on Wicked Wallace's rampage. Could this child be one of the very few who survived? And if so, how could that be?

"Where are you from, kid? Which island?"

Kyle sniffed. "Dunno. I ran lots. Swam."

"All right. Is your father anywhere around?"

"No dad. Never dad. Just Mom." Kyle hiccuped a few times and wiped the snot from his nose.

"Is there anybody else you know where you're from? There might be people looking for you," Volga prodded him.

"Mmmmm...oh!" That was right! Because he'd gotten so scared from running all over, he'd forgotten where to go! "Madame Hyacinth. The House of Delights. I was supposed to always go there if my mom had trouble."

_That's a brothel. So he's a whore's son, hunh? _"I think I might know where that is. What's your name, kid?"

Kyle drew his knees up to his chin and poked his mother's pouch. Maybe he'd been bad in telling all that stuff to this person. His mother told him to not talk so much to strangers. But he couldn't help it! This person had been nice to him and fished him out of the river. He even saved the special pouch from mom. Still, his mother told him to not give his name lightly out to people.

Volga rubbed his chin in thought. Not surprising the kid decided to clam up now. He didn't know which way was up. "Okay, you don't have to tell me. I'm just glad you're all right now. You were really sick for a while."

Kyle made a noncommittal noise.

"I'm not gonna ask you anything more now, except stay in this room and rest, okay? I'll have someone give you some food." He stood up. "I'll be back in a little bit."

As he watched the child curl back into bed, impotent rage built in Volga's chest. Had not some enterprising man already killed Wicked Wallace, Volga would have gladly thrown away any prospects for his future just to knife the man in the balls.

* * *

Kyle had yet to move from bed. Wait, no, that was wrong, he did that one time 'cause he had to pee real bad, but other than that, he'd been good. A woman brought him a tray of food a little while ago. He gobbled it up as though expecting it to be taken away.

He didn't know what else he should be doing. Should he try to escape? Should he try to find the House of Delights again and go back home? He still felt weak from being sick, so maybe it would be better to wait. Then he'd decide what to do.

The door to his room opened. The man who talked to him before entered in with someone else. The someone else sprinted from the door all the way to his bed to crush him in a hug.

"Oh gods, _Kyle_. We all thought he'd gotten you."

Kyle squeaked a little. Thorn was pretty strong when he had a hold of you! "I'm okay," he said, hugging the man back. He heard Thorn ask the other man to give them some time alone and the door closed.

"What happened to you, Kyle?"

Thorn always listened to him, so he didn't hesitate to pour out the story. He told him everything but the terrible horrible thing he couldn't quite remember. At the end, Kyle found himself in tears.

"Brave, brave Kyle. The girls will be so happy to hear you're all right."

"Yeah! I get to go back with you, right?"

Thorn sat back on the edge of the bed, settling his hands on his thighs. "Well, if you go back with me, they'll put you to work someday."

"I know. But that's where Mom told me to go. So isn't that what I have to do?"

"Mmm. You could. But there's this place."

Kyle looked around the room. "You mean here?"

"That's right. Do you know who rescued you? The man's name is Volga. He's something of an oddity among the rich folks. He rescues children who don't have homes or parents."

Kyle looked down at his blanket.

"Kyle? Do you remember what you told me? That you wanted to be a different kind of man? I knew your mother really well. I think that your mother would be really happy if you stayed here."

"Really?" He scooted next to Thorn. "Why's that?"

Thorn smiled and placed his arm around Kyle's small shoulders. "Volga doesn't seem like one of those strange men that visit our neighborhood, does he?"

So bewildered by what had happened, Kyle hadn't stopped to think that Volga was one of those Men. Volga was just a man. "You're right! He's different."

"Mmhmm. Remember when I told you a long time ago that you could grow up to be a different man? One that doesn't serve Men and that doesn't beat up on women? I think you could learn that here." Thorn sighed. "It's the kind of place I wish I grew up in."

"You really think so?"

"I do. I think you'll be the best kind of man here."

He did want to be a good man. He promised his mom he'd be different then the other Men they usually saw at home. "I want to be a good man," Kyle said.

The phrase echoed in his brain for a long time, even while Thorn and Volga talked together. It stayed there when other curious children started poking their faces in his doorway. The determination wavered a little bit when Volga began a yelling match with his parents about keeping him.

Determined, Kyle clenched his mother's drawstring pouch. _I will be a good man. I promise, mom._


	3. Educational Upbringing

Volga never expected giving homes to orphans to be all sunshine and roses. Having grown up learning about running an island, he'd learned about the shady parts of human life. Either because of what he learned or in spite of it, it prompted him to reach out to others less fortunate. Keenly aware of his home life and the privilege of being a leader's son, he never let it control his actions as he'd seen in many others. He vowed to be different and not abandon the children under his care.

He nearly caved in on that promise with Kyle one day.

"Mister Volga, Mister Volga!"

Volga looked up from his paperwork. Three of his charges, sweet young girls, all gasped for breath. "Woah, slow down girls. What's wrong?"

"Mister Volga! It's Kyle!" said Tisha, the youngest. She clutched a stuffed animal shaped like a riverfish to her chest. "Kyle's in trouble!"

"What?"

The middle child, Relly, nodded. "We were walking along to the market with Jen 'cause you said we could 'cause we was good! And some guys started talkin' all funny wanting under the skirts."

Gods above. Jen, the eldest of the group at fourteen years of age, just stood back sniffling and rubbing her wrist. "I wasn't doing anything, honest! I didn't say anything to 'em, only that we were going to market together and they wouldn't leave me alone! One of them grabbed me so I couldn't get away."

"Then! Then Kyle got real quiet and started kicking the guy and his friends and told us to run and get help!" Tisha threw up her hands, finishing the story. "Mister Volga! They'll hurt Kyle!"

Volga kicked away the chair in his haste. He barked orders for family guards to follow him. Gods above and below, he'd honestly thought his kids would be safe in the company of a teenager. Next time, a guard with them. He'd do anything necessary to protect his kids, just as long as little Kyle turned out safe.

Panic choked his throat, imagining the poor kid being beat up by yet another adult. _Dammit, this isn't fair to him! Cut him some slack already!_

Volga and his men found the scene of the crime easy enough. Shopkeepers, men and women both were kicking at a group of three very bruised men. "All right, _that's enough._"

The crowd froze at his roar. "We'll now detain this men. Did anybody see a little blond kid somewhere in this mess?"

"I saw a kid head that way!" A woodcutter pointed down an alley. "I saw 'im chasin' a guy with one of my big ol' sticks!"

"You, you and you, stay here and arrest these men." Volga pointed at the three groaning on the ground. "I'm going after Kyle! Wait here until I tell you otherwise!"

"Sir!"

_Please. Please don't let him die. Please let him be okay._

With every breath came a new prayer to the gods or anyone else listening. The alleyways twisted in this part of the island. He paused at an intersection, unsure of where to go.

A man's hoarse scream came from the right hand path. "Oh please, no moreAAAGH!"

What? Was someone else attacking this man and Kyle at the same time? Volga regretted not even strapping on a sword or grabbing a glaive in his hurry. He couldn't do anything about it now and rushed down the alleyway.

"Kyle! I'm coming for you. I'm coming...._KYLE!"_

His brain couldn't quite make sense of the picture in front of his face. Blood spattered on the walls. Arms held up to ward off the blows. A stick ready to crack in half. A man's eyes wide with horror. A rictus grin on a child's mouth. Utterly no mercy in a set of beautiful blue eyes.

At Volga's voice, Kyle blinked and dropped his weapon. "You're a bad man," he whispered to his victim.

"Kyle! Get over here _now!_"

The child scurried behind him.

"You...you keep 'im away from me! He's got a killer's eyes!"

Volga picked up the discarded club. He stared at the man, bashed around the body and face. He then stared at Kyle, who now looked confused and scared with the entire situation. "Sure he does."

_Crack!_

Agonized howling filled the air. Volga leaned his foot onto the rib he'd just cracked. "Me, now? You definitely have to worry about me." He drew a breath and raised his voice to a roar. "_This is what you get for messing with my kids!_"

All told, three guardsmen had to pull him away. The attack became the talk of the islands, with all the focus on Volga and his "explosive" temper. No one, not even his parents, blamed him for the outburst. In the interest of not promoting vigilante justice, however, Volga accepted a term of house arrest for several months. The man he'd attacked stated emphatically Volga tried to cave his head in for messing with young Jen.

The truth he'd created seemed better to him than the reality that plagued Volga's mind. He knew what he saw and he couldn't help but compare the scene to the death of Wicked Wallace. _Gods, it couldn't be. There's no way._

It made sense in a sickening way. The complete desecration of Wicked Wallace wasn't some calculated attack, but rather the tantrum of a little child with no idea how to handle grown-up rage.

Kyle did have a killer's eyes.

Nothing in Volga's experience told him how to handle a child that could kill someone. Worse still, he could never reveal what he suspected about his youngest charge. Who would believe him?

_I can't deal with this, _he realized. He sat heavily on the edge of his bed. _He belongs in an asylum._

"Son?" asked a voice behind the closed door.

"Yes, Father?"

"One of your children wants to visit with you."

Volga sighed. His world could go to hell in a hand basket, but it didn't stop his obligation to care for the kids. "All right, send 'em in."

Kyle crept around the open door and stopped a little distance away from Volga. He held out a basket. "Here. This is from all of us."

"That's very nice of all of you. Father? Can you leave me alone with Kyle for a bit?"

"All right, son. Don't stay in here too long. Come out and see everyone at least for a little while today." The door clicked shut.

The basket contained pictures and presents from the kids, even a few sweet treats he particularly enjoyed. He frowned at the inclusion of a belt. "Kyle? Why is this in here?"

Sniffling filled the air. "So...so you can hit me."

"Hit you? Why would I want to do that?"

"Because...because I did the bad thing again!" Kyle stood rooted to the spot, bawling his eyes out.

He knew where Kyle needed to be. He was not the person for this job. But his heart crumbled. Kyle might have had a killer's eyes, but he didn't have them now. Kyle was just a little child, confused. "Gods. C'mere boy."

Like any other squalling youngster, he set Kyle on his lap and patted his back. Kyle clung to him tightly. "Now. Tell me what the bad thing is and I'll figure out if I need to punish you."

Volga listened to the uncertain and confused story, more certain than ever Kyle might have killed a man. _He can't remember it, though. There's no way he'd have the strength to stalk and kill a man. It must have been a freak accident and then he had a tantrum about losing his mother._

"So. When this guy tried to hurt Jen, what did you do?"

"My head hurt and and and my chest hurt and and I knew I had to make him be sorry. It's okay to hurt someone if you're avenging them."

"No. It's never okay to hurt someone."

"But I heard! I heard people say it was!" Kyle whined.

"It's not anyone's job but soldiers and guardsmen to give punishment like that."

"But you hit him too!"

"I know I did. I got really angry like you did. But I shouldn't have done that. And you see? I got punished because of what I did. Do you understand, Kyle?"

Biting his lip, Kyle nodded. "Does...does that mean I get a punishment too?"

"Yes. But not a whipping with a belt. I don't hit my kids and I'm not going to hit you." Thoughtful, Volga stroked the child's hair. _He's young...I saw what happened, but he's young. Not a killer, but just confused. Maybe if I start now, I can change him._

"So what are you going to do to me?"

"Well...because I beat on that scum, I have house arrest. Since you also were beating on that man, it stands to reason that you should get the same punishment."

Kyle sniffed and sat up. "You mean I can't leave the house?"

"No. You'll have to stay here until we can work on that temper of yours. Do you understand? You're not going to do this anymore or you'll really _be_ in trouble."

The child might have had a killer's eyes and a furious temper, but it was buried inside the soul of a scared little boy. Kyle nodded his head. "I understand."

His house arrest afforded Volga time to ponder the problem of how to tame Kyle's murderous rage. If he tried to keep him completely safe from harm, it could bubble over in the future. So he took another tack, one that raised eyebrows with his parents.

Under the watchful eye of the household guard, Kyle learned the basics of swordcraft. When he proved to be quite the quick learner, his teachings were augmented with glaive use by local masters. Volga's reasoning worked like this: if his young charge had a tendency toward violence, better to channel it into something useful while he was still young.

The plan appeared to be working. Volga never saw that rage resurface in the child's eyes. Instead, Kyle seemed to be refining his skill to the point that only men wanted to spar with him. Anyone younger than twenty could not beat him. His teachers all called the child "uncommonly gifted", "possessing a sixth sense" or "thinking seven steps ahead." The life of a city guard or the private guard of a noble seemed likely. It all seemed to be going well for Kyle.

And then he really started to pay attention to girls.

Growing up among the prostitutes of Lelcar, he'd learned how Men treated women. He vowed to be different. Surrounded by girls who were his fellow orphans, they treated him like a little brother. In turn, he always treated them right, picking flowers for the older ones and patiently reading stories to the younger ones.

In school, when most boys were busy teasing girls to show them how they liked them, Kyle's manner proved refreshing. Girls flocked to him and Kyle enjoyed the attention. Bemused islanders told Volga that he was housing a world-class flirt, never mind Kyle was not yet a teenager.

Volga, taken up more and more by ruling the eastern islet, did not keep quite as close an eye on his charge as he used to. It startled him one day to see Kyle, at 13, as not a child anymore. Although Kyle still had some growing to do, his regular training had left him lean and trim. _Lord help me. He's going to be trouble. But I'll take that kind of trouble any day._

It'd been a dare. He and his friends, all hormone-driven teens, were looking for an outlet for their frustrations. One named kept coming up: Cerci. Sweet Cerci who enjoyed teaching young men the fine arts of carnal relations. No back street whore her, but a younger daughter of a low aristocrat. Who would go see if the rumor was true?

Kyle took the challenge. With his friends hiding in an alley, they saw him walk up to the young woman. They talked. She appeared amused and gave him a slip of paper and kiss on the cheek. His friends could barely contain their collective excitement.

"Oh man, Kyle, you're gonna get to do it!"

Kyle's initial bravado lasted until that night he sat in the upper storage area of a boathouse near one of the many docks. _Oh man, I'm gonna do it and I'm nervous as all hell._

When he heard footsteps pace up the wooden walkway, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Cerci laughed and sat next to him on an unused canvas wrap. "No need to jump so, Kyle."

"Um...okay. It's just, um, I know I said that I...uh..."

"Oh, I know your type. A bunch of your friends dared you and now you're sitting there, wondering what's going to happen now." She laughed again. "Happens all the time."

He looked over at her. She happened to sit in a patch of moonlight, dressed in just a robe. Her grin teased at him as did the part of her cleavage he could see. Kyle swallowed, feeling his pants grow uncomfortable.

"Why...I mean, why do you do this?"

"This meaning sneaking out of my parents' house to have sex with young men?" She stared into the darkness of the boathouse. "Well, I have an older sister. My parents married her off to an older man and she's told me horrible things. So she thinks sex is this evil thing. I wanted to know if it was that evil so when I was 14, I sneaked out of my parents house to be with this boy I was with? We didn't really know what we were doing and it kinda hurt but it wasn't evil. It was wonderful." Cerci sighed.

"Of course, I wasn't smart enough then to realize there are risks with that. I was really lucky, but I'm much more careful now. I snooped around in libraries and asked questions to anybody who would let me know. It's not like anyone will come out and _tell _you how to be smart about it."

"Yeah, I wish they had a class on that," Kyle said. This felt so much like the talk of the ladies of Madame Hyacinth's that he began to feel more calm.

Cerci giggled. "They should! Anyway, I thought maybe if I could find other people willing to learn the right way, then sex wouldn't have to be this evil horrible thing. I know someday I'll have to give it up since my 21st birthday is coming soon. But I wanted to get to as many men as I could so they'd _know_ how women really want to be treated."

"And...how to women really want to be treated?" he ventured.

Cerci's smile grew. "Lie down, Kyle. And I'll show you."

Over the course of a week, fumbling fingers and mistimed climaxes gave way to breathy whispers and steady rhythm. Hearing Cerci moan at the peak of her desire became the most important thing in Kyle's young life.

He learned about the practical applications as well. How to never press a woman if she wasn't interested. Even if things were going well and suddenly a woman backed out, to respect that feeling. Nothing ever went beyond the word "no." Most importantly, how to make sure to never get a girl pregnant. Certainly there were concoctions women could take, but he, also, should start ingesting his own potion to make sure he couldn't impregnate anyone.

Knowing quite well how hard a woman had to work to raise a child alone, he knew he couldn't wish that fate on anyone else. No matter how sweet the dalliance. He'd be smart about things.

This plan seemed to work as Kyle started to concentrate more on wooing women than anything involving schoolwork. The yelling of Volga didn't even phase him, as he had girls on his mind.

Then he met Rachel de Beers.

The adopted daughter of Lord de Beers attracted many an eye, but she was guarded fiercely by her father. At 16, it seemed a given she'd be quite the catch as a nobleman's wife. No one planned on a streetwise teen showing up all the nobles of Lelcar.

A few chance meetings led to more flirtation. Flirtation led to a few stolen kisses. Kisses led to a serious question by Kyle if Rachel wanted to learn other things. In his mind, it seemed perfectly reasonable that if a woman could teach him how to enjoy sex, couldn't he do the same thing to Rachel?

Driven by their shared lust, the two picked a less than secured area, out in the garden shed. Unbeknowst to them, sounds carried further than they realized in the dark.

"Oooh...it hurts..."

"Just wait. Just wait. It'll feel so much better."

"Oh...oh! OH!"

"Heh, told ya."

"Oh gods! Don't stop!"

"Never."

Drowsy and content, the two lovers were completely taken aback by the appearance of two guardsmen in the livery of Lord de Beers. "What in the Feitas is going on here? STOP THAT MAN!"

"No, don't hurt him!" Rachel yelled. "He did nothing wrong!"

Confusion ruled Kyle's head. He saw the guardsmen approaching Rachel, covered in only a blanket. "Don't touch her!" Brandishing a garden rake, he disarmed the guardsmen and with swift smacks to their heads, sent them sprawling, unconscious.

"Oh...oh Kyle. I think we're going to be in real trouble. I...I'll try to explain to my father," she said, pulling the blanket close.

"I think it's a little late for that," he said. Sobered by the attack, it began to dawn on him that this situation went a little beyond "trouble." Lights began to turn on in the de Beers household.

"Rachel. No matter what happens, don't let them push you around." Kyle began to find his clothes and yank them on in haste.

"I...I won't. Will I see you again?"

"Maybe someday. But not for a while." He smiled in the dark. "You're going to make your husband one lucky man." And with that, he fled into the night.

Three nights later, Kyle deemed it safe to return to his home to get his things. He climbed over the manor wall and into his window. A scowling Volga waited in his room.

"Do you know you're wanted for questioning by Lord de Beers? He says it's for flirting with his daughter, but I'm going to take a guess it's for a lot more than that." he hissed.

"What the...?! I didn't do anything she didn't want, too!" Kyle exclaimed, pulling clothes out of his chest of drawers.

"I kind of figured that because you're a little smart. But you were too busy of thinking with your dick instead of your head to think about what her father might think."

"I'm not going to lie. I wasn't thinking about that. And now that I am, I'm pretty much fucked." All the while, he continued packing. "I didn't do this to hurt you, Volga."

"I believe you there." He watched Kyle pack clothes, shoes and blankets. "I see you're thinking now because you know I legally can't deny Lord de Beers from taking you into custody."

"Yeah...I know." Kyle looked down at the meager pile of his possessions.

"But I can do this. Here." Volga threw a drawstring bag onto the bed. It clinked with coin. "Tomorrow morning I'm going to report to the guardsmen that a few things were stolen from my house. I'm going to tell them I don't know who did it, but people will start to draw their own conclusions about what a scoundrel you are, stealing from your adopted home."

Kyle's eyes widened. He tried to speak, but no sound emerged.

"Because Lord de Beers phrased his need for you as questioning, you haven't been officially charged with anything. A theft charge is different, but in a few years, it'll blow over." Volga placed his hand on Kyle's shoulder and squeezed. "It's the last thing I can give you. You're on your own now."

"Th...thank you."

"Hmf. I might even have a little fun yelling at the local police." He ruffled Kyle's short locks. "You might want to either grow a beard or grow your hair out before you come back." With that, Volga left the room and shut the door.

He walked back to his room and sat heavily on his bed. "Gods. Stupid kid. Damn stupid kid. Feitas and Sun, watch over him. I can't protect him any longer."


	4. Manor Boy

On his own at last! No more rules, no more school and no one could tell him what to do. With the Feitas at his side, fresh water and food were not a problem. Just as long as you could catch the fish.

That proved a bit of a hardship the first few days, but Kyle could handle a little hunger. His biggest problem now with his new found freedom was not having any idea where to go. It baffled him why he'd never left town before because other than being confused on what to do, it really wasn't that bad.

It was probably all for the best. Sure, he'd miss the lovely ladies of Lelcar, but there were other towns out there. Other women. Other adventures. He'd been feeling increasingly cramped in Volga's manor anyway. He could take care of himself just fine.

He'd make sure to NOT have sex with the daughters of local nobles in the future. Still, she'd been so sweet...

Gah! Kyle shook his head. Thinking about girls wouldn't help him figure out where to go. He needed a plan. Or a map. Lacking either of these, Kyle followed the banks of Feitas, feeling as rootless as the ever-moving water.

Days turned to weeks and Kyle traveled along the river's banks, picking up odd jobs on ships always in need of a good crew. In that time, he made himself useful learning any task he could, be it catching fish with a net to steering a little Raftfleet made houseboat.

Weeks turned to months and in the constant warm climate of Falena, all seasons blended together. Kyle grew his hair long, dyed it brown and he gained strength. He also started growing steadily, annoyed whenever he'd have to buy new clothes. Who knows when he'd finally settle?

Months turned into a year and found him with a purse full of pay at another successful ship's haul. One of the ship's hands, an older man named Garren, walked the streets of a small town on the fork of the Feitas between Yashuna and Estrise. They'd run into each other once or twice before hauling for other crews.

"So, wanderer, where do you plan on going now? Gonna buy more of that crap dye for yourself?"

"Among other things." He needed more herbal mixture from an apothecary before he felt confident he could be with a woman and not get her knocked up.

"You look a little young to be hiding from the law. And too damn skinny too," the older man said, poking him in the ribs.

"The best way to keep a secret is not to tell," Kyle replied, beaming.

"Ugh. Fine. You got another job or are you going to stick around here for a while?"

"Hadn't really thought that far."

"You never do, kid. Well, while you're figuring that out, let's get a bite to eat and drink. It'll be my treat."

"Thanks, Garren! I'm still a growing boy, so you might regret it."

Garren smacked the back of Kyle's head. "I already do, smart ass."

The two of them found a tavern with an outdoor table and enjoyed their meals and ale. "What do you plan on doing, old man?"

"Me? My bones are givin' me hell. Probably got another year or two before I'll have to give up hauling for crews. I'm gonna see if someone's looking for a house guard."

"Hunh? Wouldn't that be more for noble houses? Like in Estrise?" Kyle finished his second sandwich and took a deep pull on his ale.

"True. But there's nobles who like to hide out in smaller areas like this. I might find something good here."

"Speaking of good things..." Kyle shaded his eyes to look down the road. A young woman dressed in a servant's livery struggled with her load. From here, he could see her dress also struggled to contain a pair of shapely breasts. He grinned.

"Feitas and the Sun, you never stop," Garren said. "Haven't you ever heard of taking breaks?"

"Only when I'm on the job. I'll be a gentleman!"

"Right. And I'm the king."

Kyle laughed. "Hey, you said if I looked around, I'd find good things."

Garren sighed. "Be careful, kid."

"Later!" He managed a running grab of a parcel dropped from the servant's hands. "Here, let me help you with that."

"Oh, that's very kind of you! I thought I'd be able to carry everything this time but honestly there was a good deal at the market and the mistress likes to take advantage of good deals...ahem." She placed a hand in front of her mouth. "I ramble a bit. Do you think you can help me carry this all the way to the manor?"

"Oh sure! I'm not doing anything right now." His ears perked at the word "manor." Only nobles lived in manors. "Is it far from here?"

"It's a little bit of a walk but nothing too bad because goodness knows that I'd take quite the stroll every morning if it were too long of a stretch and the Matron would be ever so cross at not getting her supplies and...ooops."

Kyle liked how she blushed and the freckles that dashed across her cheekbones. Her hair had been braided, but began to show signs of unraveling. "So who's your mistress?"

"What? You can't tell by the livery?"

He shook his head. "I'm just a traveler and I haven't spent enough time in town before. So c'mon, tell me who she is!"

Janice, the servant girl, gave a rambling account of her employer. Castalia Silverhart ruled her manor with a gentle hand and appeared to be well-liked by her staff. Never into heavy politics, she'd retired to the manor after her husband died. She took up pursuits deemed appropriate by society, such as organizing events to help the less fortunate, giving parties to visiting nobles and dabbling in a bit of art. Although, as Janice swore, it was real art and not the nonsense one could find in Haud.

Her two sons, both young adults, had taken their father's place in the Senate and lived in Sol Falena. They visited infrequently, but relations were cordial. In a world where nobles could and did run roughshod over commoners, the Silverharts were something of an anomaly.

It sounded like a decent place to work and live, Kyle thought. Maybe they needed someone to run errands? Take care of livestock? Fix up the manor? Whatever the case, he'd have to see what he could find. It would be a great place to hide from anyone searching for him from Lelcar. He hadn't been back there since, but he thought it might be years before he would return. Better to let the incident fade from the minds of the public and his physical description to grow blurred by the passing of the years.

Besides, who from there would ever think he'd be hiding out in a noble's mansion? No one. It would be something _if _he could pull it off.

Janice chattered at a fellow servant in front of the gate before they were allowed entrance. For a manor out in the country, it didn't exude any air of neglect. No weeds grew in the cracks of the cobblestones. Hedges and flowers flourished in well-tended beds. A drill master bawled out her student, showing him the proper way to hold his spear.

"My lady Silverhart keeps soldiers on the grounds?" he asked.

"My lady does, yes. More guards than soldiers. The town has occasional trouble with river piracy so she hires on a few men just in case. A thief tries to invade every so often, so you can't be too careful." Janice waved to the practicing men and their teacher. "They're a great bunch. Mostly older men who don't mind not moving so much." She giggled.

"And the teacher? What about her?"

"Oh, that's my lady's cousin, Florentine. I heard she was in the navy out of Estrise until a tangle with pirates." Janice place a hand to her bosom. "It's so touching that my lady reached out to her."

The "why's that" never left Kyle's mouth. Florentine yelled at another student and turned her head. At some point, either sword or ax had hacked into the right side of her face, gouging deep. An eye patch covered her right eye, but couldn't hide her disfigured lips. The tone of her voice sounded as though she'd received a throat injury at one point.

"Navy doesn't want people who can't see out of both eyes. They're daft, I say! Everyone knows Battleaxe can still fight with the best of them!"

"Wait...you called her _Battleaxe?_"

"It's a joke, but that's what she wants us to call her. She says she's not pretty enough to be a Florentine but just right for a battleaxe."

Kyle laughed. "I think I like her already!"

"Aaaaand, here we are! We'd best get these off to the Matron, quick as we like!"

The Matron, as Janice predicted, looked as no-nonsense as Battleaxe, only she ran the kitchens and manor servants. Her silver hair was swept up in a bun and her features were lined with age, but she moved her large frame with ease. She wiped her hands on an apron. "Janice, I was expecting you a quarter of an hour ago! And who's this here?"

"Matron, this is Kyle! I was carrying too many things and he stopped to help me."

"Nice to meet you." Kyle flashed his most disarming smile.

"Oh, you can just stop, you rake." The Matron waved her hands at him. "I've seen your type before. All smiles and charm until there's real work to be done and then off you go!"

Kyle staggered around, clutching his chest. "Oh! She got me! She got me real bad! Ooooh...I feel a swoon coming on."

Several of the other ladies of the kitchen tittered behind their hands. The Matron rolled her eyes. "Oh and he's got some humor to him as well. Well, Kyle, I do thank you for helping out. You'd best be on your way back home."

"My home's wherever I happen to sleep. The only person in charge of me is me, unless I'm part of a crew running up the Feitas."

"Is that so. I suppose you'll be sailing off again soon?"

Kyle shook his head. "My last job is done so I've been looking for a new one." He grinned. "You can call me a rake and a charmer, but I know how to do a man's work."

"Oh really?" The Matron looked him up and down like a horse at a fair. Kyle took the look with good grace, having been subjected to the same by any number of captains looking to hire. The Matron pointed her thumb out of the main kitchen window. "There's a hole on the stable roof. If you've run with crews, you should have no problems climbing things. Our regular man is off visiting family near Rainwall. See if you can't make yourself useful, Kyle."

Not a carpenter by any means, Kyle couldn't build a new roof. He managed to patch the hole the best he could. The regular guy would have to come in and complete the job. Rather than rest on his laurels, Kyle hopped off the roof and determined which stall stood under the hole. Anything he could fix in the stall, he did, roughing out new planks of wood for repairs. Anything he couldn't, he made a thorough list.

At supper time, he poked his head back into the kitchens. Kyle felt a little self conscious standing there, reeking of sweat and horse while the Matron read over his recommendations. He closed his eyes and forced his mouth not to drool. The free meal from Garren seemed like something from a day or two ago. He couldn't stop his stomach from gurgling in protest.

"A little hungry, Kyle?" asked the Matron.

"Maybe," he answered, chin held high.

A smile spread across her face. "I might be able to help you with that."

One generous meal later, Kyle earned the right to stay on the manor grounds for a week. Once the regular groundskeeper returned, they'd see if he couldn't make a more permanent addition of him. He didn't protest a bed in the stables. Having learned to sleep anywhere and everywhere, beds became luxuries and not necessities.

He did earn an unexpected perk and that was freedom to talk to the guards on the grounds. It filled him with a little bit of excitement. He remembered his childhood dream of becoming a soldier or a guardsman for one of the noble houses of Lelcar. Maybe this would be a starting point.

_Besides, there's no way I can do anything fun with Janice until I have regular privileges back in town to the apothecary. Ahh celibacy, how I wish you would go away. _Getting caught in bed with a serving girl wasn't the best way to make a good impression on your employer. So he'd have to keep out of trouble some other way.

Kyle hung back and listened to the stories spun by the older men. He'd reconciled his opinions of men being strange creatures, considering he was turning into one. He always preferred the company of either women or much older men. Something about younger guys always put him off. Kyle reasoned it was the amount of heads he turned from their lady friends, so rather than get into a fight with a jealous boyfriend, he kept his distance.

These older guards were men who'd earned a right to somewhat relaxed position. They once had families, raised children to adulthood or wanted a comfortable place to serve after long years in the military. "Better watch out, kid, if you keep sitting around listening to us jabber on, we might grow fond of you," said one of the guards.

"Hah, who's this pup nosing his way into a dog's den?" The voice had a rasp to it. Kyle didn't have to guess who it belonged to as Battleaxe sat among her men, mug of ale in hand.

"A pup who's interested in finding a home and listening to a few stories. No harm in that is there?"

Battleaxe chuckled. "Yer blinkin' blue eyes don't work on me, boy. I'm no blushing maid. You think none of these guys have tried it before?" The men laughed at the apparent old joke.

"We only like those who can handle weapons," said another guard. "You any good with anything?"

"Usually only glaives, knives, staves, nothing fancy. Just whatever someone would teach me." Kyle's nerves hummed. He hadn't had any regular weapons practice since he left Lelcar. Anything since then had been a few practices here and there from bored crew members needing something to do while running along the Feitas.

"Well, I don't know what kind of job the Matron will have you do, but I know we need a younger guy to spar with these old guys." Battleaxe smiled and with her disfigured lips, it made for quite the evil grin. "We do pretty good with new blood. What's your name, pup?"

"Kyle. Kyle of the Feitas."

"Hah. All right, riverboy. Why don't you come on back tomorrow after your daily work and lemme see what you've got."

Kyle whistled his way through work the next day, turning on the charm for all but never shirking any task given to him. He felt genuinely happy for a chance to fight again, even for just a lark with the drill instructor. _I guess Volga was right. I really do have it in my blood._

Most of the women Kyle met, he wanted to please, usually in a carnal manner or just to be friends with. For whatever reason, this woman felt different. Perhaps it was her no-nonsense manner or her reality with her injuries. He wanted to prove to her something!

His fingers brushed over a special pocket in most of the pants he wore. The drawstring bag from his mother was faded, but it stayed safe, looking after him. _I want...I want to make her proud of me. That's okay, isn't it, Mom?_

At the appointed time after the evening meal, Kyle waited inside the guards' building in their training room. He bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet. "Hah," rasped a voice at the door. "That's what I like to see. Someone eager to get thumped."

Battleaxe entered the training room, cool as you please. The other Silverhart manor guards filed in and took seats around the perimeter. "Looks like these old men need some entertainment, Kyle. Think you'll give us a show?"

"I dunno about entertainment value, but I bet I can last longer than these old guys." Kyle leered. "Reeeeeal long."

"Regular cut up, isn't he boss?"

"He is." The drill instructor secured her plain brown hair back in a braid. "Give the man a weapon and let's see what he can do."

Kyle shivered as he placed his hands on a glaive. Often called a harpoon by people in Lelcar, Kyle felt most comfortable with this weapon in his hand. He used it for more practical purposes running with crews, like spearing fish, but he'd never lost the knack for its fighting style. As good as he knew he was, he had no doubt Battleaxe would make him pay. All he had to do was back up his boasting with skill. His opponent wielded a standard sword one would find in the navy.

As soon as he heard a man give the signal, Kyle ran forward, whipping the glaive with his whole body. Sword met blade in a solid crack. Up, down, side and side, Kyle and Battleaxe chased each other. He couldn't tell if anyone jeered or cheered for his skill level. He heard nothing and saw nothing but his opponent. Damn, if she wasn't a worthy foe at last.

He'd been so used to decimating anyone he sparred with, he forgot what a decent fight felt like. No matter what he did, he couldn't slip behind her guard. Oh, he got close once or twice, forcing the woman to backpedal, but she would counter with a move that had him retreating across the floor. He panted harshly, his arms starting to burn with the force of carrying his weapon.

Sensing his weakness, she redoubled her efforts. "C'mon, boy! You gonna let an old woman shove you from here to Sol-Falena?" she taunted.

He couldn't spare the breath for an answer. He just needed to shove her away so he could breathe. Unlike glaives from Lelcar, this particular one sported a thick wooden crossguard, stopping a sliding hand from slicing up the blade. A sudden feeling filled his mind and, as though seeing things before they happened, he knew what he had to do. He grabbed the crossguard with his right hand, used the blade to block the sword and shifted his whole body, clipping Battleaxe with the staff of the polearm.

She stumbled back with surprise. Kyle stood his ground, flipping the glaive back into a more orthodox position. He gasped for breath and swiped his sweaty palms on his pants. With a snarl, Battleaxe rushed him, just as he fumbled for the proper hand positions. One of the guards yelped and dived away from the glaive, thrown against the wall.

Kyle didn't fair as well, laid out on his back and staring at the ceiling with a dazed expression. "So..." he said, a little out of it. "Was it good for you?"

Laughter erupted in the room. A guardsman helped Kyle to a sitting position. He looked up to see the drill instructor laughing in short, dry sounds, the way a cat would if it could.

"Well, that was certainly entertaining." She pulled him to his feet. "Yer no amateur, boy. You've had more than a few lessons."

"I had a little luck," he admitted. He gave a rough sketch of his training. "But I haven't had a good fight in a long time, so I'm probably a little rusty."

"Just a little, hunh?" She shook her head in amazement. "I haven't had a good fight in a long time either. Oh, these lads are all right, but they don't last long enough for me," she jeered.

"You're too much woman for us, boss!"

"I know. Kyle, I don't know what kind of jobs yer doing if yyer accepted full time, but yer welcome to visit the guards after hours any time."

Kyle smiled in genuine pleasure. "I think I'll probably take you up on that offer."

* * *

A week later, the lady of the manor called forth her servants and the Matron to hold court on the state of things. The last item of the meeting concerned Kyle. He stepped forward as his name was called and bowed as he'd been taught to the lady of the manor.

Castalia Silverhart looked somewhere in her late thirties, but with adult children, her real age sent her into another decade entirely. She shared the same hardness of face as her cousin the drill instructor but soft laugh lines crinkled outside her green eyes. Her long brown hair flowed like silk behind her. A simple but stylish dress emphasized her curves without being overly sensual. She looked like a woman of middle age who'd taken care of herself without resorting to ridiculous measures to seem much younger. The way she smiled fluttered Kyle's stomach. _Ah, but she's just being polite._

"Kyle of the Feitas, I've heard nothing of compliments about you from my staff and my cousin. You would make an excellent assistant to our groundskeeper."

"Thank you, my lady. I promise to work very hard as a part of your staff."

"Is that so? Well, I'll be looking forward to see how hard you work." Her smile grew a trifle more private.

_Did she just...naaaaah._

Later in the day, after his first allowable trip into town, Kyle took a walk on the grounds. Janice hopped beside him. "Oh, I knew you would fit right in. They'll have to work on giving you a better room with the others."

"Oh, I don't know," he said, as they strolled near the stables. "There's a lot of good things about having quarters here. It's quieter with just horses and not people. Horses don't talk."

"Mm, that's true. People tend to talk a lot." She seemed to mull over something. "Where is your room here? I haven't seen it."

Kyle swallowed. "Oh, it's not far. Let me show you."

Horses certainly didn't talk. For that, Kyle was thankful, because they would have had a whole lot to say about how they clawed at each other the minute his door closed. He peeled her out of the top of her dress and parted the skirts.

"Ahhh...Kyle," she moaned as he buried his face in her chest. She said a lot more as he lifted her against a wall.

"Wanted you...moment I saw you..." he panted. Gods, how sweet she felt after being denied for so long. It was worth it though, to make sure she didn't have a child. She seemed to be enjoying herself a lot, judging by the mewling and scratching of his back.

A place to live, a good job and a woman eager to have him. Life was good.


	5. Whose Footsteps to Follow

A slice of heaven. That's how Kyle thought of his new life in the Silverhart manor. Once the groundskeeper returned to his regular duties, he was pleased at the work Kyle had done. He'd started teaching Kyle how to do everything needed to upkeep the manor grounds.

It wasn't exactly the work he'd envisioned for himself. Certain aspects of his new job were downright boring. Running inventory on supplies bored him to tears. Fixing roofs burnt his skin as not even crewing had managed to do. He supposed the inner workings of how to run a manor were interesting to some people, like his new boss, but not to him. He did it because it was asked of him and because he got to stay.

He'd gladly do any boring task because a full day meant an active night. Janice stopped by his room every few days for a tangle in the sheets. Whatever stories she told, a few of her curious friends stopped by. How could Kyle refuse a willing and eager guest? It amused him to think that the women worked out some kind of schedule so none of them ever overlapped a visit with the other. They all taught him different tricks and things they enjoyed. Naturally, he had to try them out on the others. It seemed to be working because they kept on turning up for visits. About the only time he refused a visit was when his medicines ran low. No way was he going to ruin anyone's fun time with a responsibility like a child.

In between the time he spent working and the time he spent with his lady friends, Kyle managed to squeeze in visits to the guards' quarters. Despite his mood or how tired he felt, he never failed to show up at least for a half and hour every evening. Stories of his prowess were laughed over drinks. It flushed him with a kind of pride to be seen as just another person working at the manor and especially by the guards.

About the only person who wasn't pleased with him was Battleaxe. Whenever they sparred together, she growled at his lack of training. "You really need to put some more effort into what yer doin', pup." She smacked the back of his legs with the flat of her sword. "Keeping busy with yer chores keeps you basically fit and bedding women keeps your hips fit, but you're not putting enough thought into anything else. Skills rust if you don't use 'em."

Kyle grinned. "What can I say? They all want to have a little bit of me. It's all fun and no one's hurting anyone else."

"True. But does it make you happy?"

_What a weird question. _"Of course it makes me happy! I got a home, a job, food every night, clothes, women and the guards. Why wouldn't I be happy? I have everything I could ever want."

"Huh." Battleaxe gave him a one-eyed unreadable look. "You really are younger than you look. I keep forgetting that."

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm doing pretty good in training, aren't I?"

"The times I can get you to pay attention, yeah." She raised her sword. "Let's do a few rounds, all right? We need to work on your sloppiness in your left guard."

For all the good times he was having in the manor, Kyle simply couldn't make Battleaxe be happy with anything. It rankled him that he couldn't be completely perfect. She was the rare woman he didn't want to have sex with. He just wanted her respect and apparently, that was not an easy gift to get.

"Oh, her? She doesn't like anything very much," Janice said one day as they walked to town together.

"Why is that? It can't be because of her scars. And she's teaching the men. I mean, she's doing something useful and that's not a bad thing," Kyle said. He carried a few baskets of food for the Matron.

"It's hard to tell. She's always been one to keep her own secrets." Janice sniffed. "If you ask me, she should be more grateful she's got a home to live in. Instead, it's like she's being held captive. My lady Silverhart gave her cousin everything she could want and she acts like she'll never be happy."

Rather than answer the servant with a pert remark, Kyle grew thoughtful. Did something else drive the drill instructor that made it impossible for her to be happy at the manor? It seemed like something worth investigating. Maybe if he understood his teacher more, he might be able to find a way to make her happy and earn her respect. The most logical place to start would be to have a chat with the lady of the manor, Castalia Silverhart. However, a manor servant like himself couldn't just walk up to the woman in charge and start talking like they were old friends. How could he meet her one on one?

Kyle didn't need to plan out a thing. One day, the lady of the manor, seeing him working shirtless and moving sacks of grain in the stables, called out to him. Not knowing what else to do in the situation, Kyle parked his wheelbarrow and bowed his head. "Good day, my lady."

"A fine day it is indeed. Kyle of the Feitas, isn't it?"

"That's right." He didn't expect her to remember his name at all.

"How have you been getting along these past few weeks?" The mistress of the manor stood with her hands clasped at her stomach. "Andre has told me you've been the greatest help to him with keeping my manor as beautiful as it is."

He couldn't fight a blush at the praise. Kyle rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm really grateful for you giving me a place to work and live. I love being here. It's like a wonderful little hideaway where everyone lives in peace."

Lady Silverhart chuckled. It was the kind of low, throaty sound that send flutters of feeling into Kyle's stomach. "What a charming description of my home. I'm glad you're getting on well with everything here. I do hope that the attractions of living in manor are enough enticement to prevent you from running off to join a river crew?"

"I'm pretty sure I won't be going anywhere as long as everyone wants to keep me here."

"That's wonderful news to hear, Kyle." Lady Silverhart's smile grew larger. "I think we could use your talents for a long time to come."

All right, young he might have been, he _knew _he didn't imagine the tone of her voice. Was there a particular protocol involved when a lady of a manor was interested in the hired help for more than fixing a leaky roof? He forcibly dragged his libido back behind whatever door it lived in and concentrated on something more important. "That's really kind of you. Everyone's been really good to me while I'm here. Even Ba...ah...Florentine."

"Oh, you can call her by her by that name, I don't mind. She seems to encourage it among her men, but Sun and Feitas know why."

_Maybe it helps her remember where she's from. _Kyle wasn't sure where the thought came from, but it might be true after all. "Well, I was wondering about Battleaxe. I enjoy learning from her, but she's a hard person to please."

"Oh that? Well, I have a few ideas on that. I think she wants to serve something larger than this manor. I try to tell her that this home is a welcome place for her. I know my guards adore her and respect her." Lady Silverhart lifted her hands up in surrender. "But that doesn't seem to help her at all. I suppose sometimes we can't always get what we want. I've been fairly lucky in that regard."

"I guess some people have more luck than others," Kyle said, agreeing. Inside, he chewed on the information. So Battleaxe stayed here waiting for what, precisely? How exactly could you want more than a decent place to live and men to train, in her case?

"Since you're so interested in my cousin, I could tell you more stories about her. Just...at another time, since you're still working." Her smile deepened. "Perhaps you might want to show up on the second floor near the portrait hall. Sometime around moonrise would be most appropriate."

All right, now he was certain. He was going to have an interesting meeting. It couldn't be wrong if his own employer wanted to meet him after hours, could it? Any scrap of story about Battleaxe could prove useful. For whatever reason, she remained a mystery that wanted to be solved. Or at least understood a little better.

He spent the rest of the day in a cheerful attitude. He met at the appropriate hour, not breathing a word to anyone else. If he wasn't discrete about this, she could throw him out on his ear. Nothing he could say in his defense would help him.

So it wasn't surprising that she met him in the hallway and urged him to follow her to a more private location. It did surprise him how eager she became, biting his neck and clawing up his back. He hadn't met a woman so amorous before! Then again, he thought, while pleasing her with tongue and lips, she was a widow. Maybe she'd just been ready for something and decided he would do. He decided not to take it personally and enjoy the ride.

After an exhausting space of time, Kyle felt on the verge of sleep. That was not to be as he was poked awake and forced to make himself presentable. "Usually I don't believe a lot of stories I hear from the servants, but I'm rather pleased to know this story came out true." Lady Silverhart lay her hand on his shoulder.

It thrilled Kyle to think he'd done so much to please her. "I'm glad, my lady. Do you think I might be able to do so again?"

"Well...I think we could come up with an arrangement of some sort. There's also something else you might do for me." At Kyle's questioning look, she continued. "As dour as my cousin is, she talks a lot about you, though in a different light. She says you have a lot of promise.

"Since you're so keen on trying to win her respect, I think it wouldn't be a bad thing to take a more serious attitude toward such studies." She dug her nails into his shoulder. "As long as you don't get too caught up in playing soldier. Kyle of Feitas is much better suited where he is."

_Was that advice or a warning? I can't tell. _"I'll be sure to do that, my lady."

"Please, young man, that makes me sound so old. When we're alone, you can call me Castalia."

* * *

Kyle never knew if women hashed out arguments the way men did. He thought it would be amusing to see women brawling like drunks in a bar. Whatever kind of discussion took place, all of his usual lady friends refrained from any midnight visits to his room. He thought it rather convenient that most of them took up with other men. It wasn't as though he could out and ask his employer. He had an idea of how this game worked.

With his nights mostly freed up, he had a legitimate excuse to hang around the guards more. They teased him, saying it was too bad that his novelty wore off. Battleaxe didn't comment much on his bedroom activities, except for "I hope you're damn careful, boy."

Her mood improved as he tried to give a genuine effort for all of her training. He found it much different from the training he'd received as a child. This style of fighting needed thinking ahead as much as reacting in the now. It seemed to suit him. Every so often, he'd catch a flicker of what Battleaxe meant to do and knew how to counter.

"What exactly _is _that?" he asked one day. He sat down on a crate, catching his breath.

"You mean reacting before yer head can catch up? I seen it happen a few times. Some people are good at fighting. Other people are good at fighting and seeing the whole picture." Battleaxe threw her student a towel. "In the navy, we called it Seven Steps Ahead."

"Why seven? Any specific reason?"

She grinned in a ghastly way. "Probably 'cause it just sounded good and seven's supposed to be lucky. You might have it a touch and some. It's hard to train with it, but if you're good enough with weapons, it's not a bad thing to have in your arsenal. There's a little quirk about it, though."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Anybody I've ever known to really have it have all ended up being real high up in charge."

Kyle thought this to be a funny image. "So you're saying I'm going to grow up and become General Kyle of the Feitas?"

Battleaxe mock swatted at his head. "Not right now with the holes in your guard, pup. Maybe in a few years you'll surprise the hell out of all of us."

* * *

Weeks turned to months. Kyle shot up in height a few inches, much to his annoyance. He didn't like having to constantly add to his meager wardrobe. The lady of the manor didn't like her servants to go around with ill-fitting clothes. But for all his height, he began packing on muscle. To ask Battleaxe, all he was doing was burning off "puppy fat" and becoming more of real dog.

Kyle began to train more and more with the drill instructor, even forgoing time with Lady Castalia. He couldn't peg what exactly it was, but something inside him wanted to do something useful. He did know when his feelings began to change.

It'd been the end of a long working day and he'd been given an invitation to come up for a visit from Lady Castalia. It was hard to tell what kind of visit it would end up being. Sometimes all she wanted was someone to listen to her problems. Other times she wanted to guide him step by step into pleasuring her, adding greatly to Kyle's carnal education.

So he'd cleaned himself up, prepared for just about anything. He hadn't been expecting to be nearly devoured alive as soon as shut the door to her private chambers. "Kyle, right now," she whispered, grinding her hips into his.

"Right _now?_" He wasn't used to being jumped so quickly. "Lady Castalia, I need a few minutes to..."

"I said _now_, Kyle." Without any pretense, she shoved him onto a chair and undid his pants. Without much aid from Kyle, still a little surprised, she prepared him for what she wanted.

"Ahhhh!" Feitas and the Sun, the lady had been quite ready from the way she slid over him. He could do little but follow along as she rode him viciously toward a shuddering climax.

"Gods, I'd needed that all day." Without any preamble, Lady Castalia moved off him and to her bed. She gave him an unreadable look. "When you look a bit more presentable, you remove yourself back toward your own room, I trust?"

He couldn't talk about the event with anyone else. It rubbed him completely the wrong way. Sure, he understood sometimes the need to want it so bad you couldn't see straight. But he'd been sort of incidental to the whole scenario. When he had sex, he pleased a woman until she was good and ready. He recalled too many horror stories from the prostitutes of Lelcar about what happened when men decided they wanted to take and to hell with the woman.

Had this been the other side of that? Obviously he could avoid injury because of the parts the gods gave men and women. It was the first time he'd just been there for the ride and not really felt anything, despite his body's natural reaction. He found he didn't like the sensation at all.

In his room, he pawed through his things inside a small closet. He removed the drawstring bag from under a floorboard. Inside the drawstring bag were a few memories of his mother. After so many years, he couldn't remember what she sounded like. He did remember the necklace she wore, which he now pulled out of the bag.

The odd thought struck him then: was this how it all started for her? Just enjoying being with people and then losing that enjoyment, then forced to continue the act as a job? That's exactly what it felt like with the lady of the manor. He'd thought she wanted to spend time with him because he was young and virile and handsome. He was starting to think otherwise.

Janice and her servant friends had been more the sort of women he enjoyed spending time with. It was all about being able to flirt, to have fun, to take time and pleasure each other. Both sides knew it wasn't for anything other than having a good time, but there wasn't anything wrong with that.

With Lady Castalia, Kyle felt little more than being a tool to serve her purpose. She might have gotten the same enjoyment if she had a special toy for personal use. _Shit, is that what I'm becoming? A tool? I'm not even getting paid extra for it. _What was he supposed to do? The woman was his employer. Did he have a right to complain?

Kyle palmed his mother's necklace and squeezed his eyes shut. More than anything, he wished someone could be responsible for him for a minute or an hour. Just like a mother. He'd been so used to being able to take care of himself that this feeling caught him off guard. _Who can help me?_

It helped raise his spirits a little bit, knowing he was trying to sneak into a woman's quarters without being caught. This time it was for a more legitimate reason.

"You know," Battleaxe said, as she pulled up another chair to her small office. "Usually I like to be abed at this time of night. And hearing stories about you, so do you." She rubbed her eye. "Only it depends on the bed."

"It's usually mine," Kyle mumbled.

"Fine. What can I do for you?"

"It's just...I want to be useful."

"Hunh? Working your job and everything else not enough for you?" She started when Kyle's expression crumpled. "Hey. Hey, what's wrong, pup?"

"I thought...I thought maybe you could help me. But I don't even know what I need help with."

Battleaxe wandered over to a small cooking area and fixed the two of them tea. "Well, maybe we can figure it out together, pup. I thought you had everything you wanted here."

Kyle drank tea before answering. "I thought I did too. But I guess..." His voice dropped, as though realizing it just then. "I'm not happy."

"That so? Figuring out the problem's the first step, pup. Next is trying to figure out how to change things."

"How do I do that?"

"You try to figure out what does make you happy and work it out from there. You said you want to be useful. That right?"

"Yeah."

"I think by figuring out how to be useful, it can also make you happy." She waved her hand. "Two problems solved right there."

"Well, I don't know how to be useful, but I know that I like spending time here with the guards. And...and training with you."

Battleaxe's lips quirked upward just a bit. "I like teaching you, even if I have to beat some sense into you every so often. I think you should start training here every day, without fail. Not because you're bored and not because certain people we won't talk about are confusing your head in a bad way. Show up because you want to learn."

His jaw dropped. She'd known without him even saying a word. It was the first time he'd heard anything less than complimentary about the lady of the manor from anyone working on the grounds.

"Surprised, pup? You don't think she'd just let someone without a home, credentials and background stick around and work out of the kindness of her heart?"

When put that way, his mood sunk even lower. He was right. He'd somehow become a prostitute and not only that, one who wasn't even getting _paid_ for that service. Now he really felt like crying. This is his grand life? To have his mother work hard and him end up exactly where she'd been? "I don't know what to do." His voice quavered, on the verge of tears.

"Be a better man."

To hear his own childhood words echoed back from someone else's lips startled Kyle. "I...I want to."

"Good. Then prove it. You've got natural talent that begs to be used, pup." Battleaxe touched his shoulder and squeezed it. "Everybody makes stupid mistakes. You don't learn unless you make them, as painful as they can be."

Sniffling, Kyle leaned his forehead against her shoulder. "I guess not." He felt a hand gently touch his hair once. "I'm sorry I've been stupid."

"I accept that. Most people I train don't admit they're stupid." She pulled him back to look at his face. "This'll make yer training a lot easier now that we're all on the same page."

* * *

Weeks turned into months yet again. Kyle grew in size and skill. Somewhere in the passage of time, he turned 16. Nothing changed much in the idyllic manor. Gossip floated, people worked and life meandered along. Lady Castalia never apologized for her behavior, but did call on Kyle less and less for his services. Apparently a new stablehand fulfilled his role quite nicely.

That suited him fine. He stuck with his other lady friends. After an absence, it wasn't the same, but he enjoyed talking and working beside them. They tittered over his growing muscles, assuring him that yes, he was growing into a fine man.

Not even in this remote location could the talk of war be avoided. Armes in the south began pressing inward for an attack. They wanted a piece of Falena to add to their own empire. The royal fighting coalesced into backstabbing and a new king and queen. The Senate and the new royals were working to fight back the invasion.

What the royals were and weren't doing didn't interest Kyle in the least. Sure, they were the rulers of the country, but who cared? There would always be fighting and there would always be scheming and in the end, they didn't care about anyone but themselves.

In the last few weeks, Battleaxe pronounced him ready to handle a sword. Kyle always grew nervous about using a sword. It was as though something had happened long ago that he couldn't recall. "Pup, it's not going to bite you. But you should be respectful of them always. They're dangerous little tools."

He became very good at swords. Almost scarily good. But he preferred any other weapon besides a sword. Kyle maintained a healthy respect for the weapon even while he swung it around in lethal patterns and combinations.

One day, when Kyle had worked in the manor for about a year, they all received the news: Armes was inside Falena and moving as fast as a bird could fly. Surprise attacks by the Armes had decimated a few key patrols and breached the border. The people of the manor and the nearby town prepared to gather supplies to send to the troops. Worried servants talked with each other. Armes hung over everything like an invisible shadow.

In the evening, Battleaxe gathered the manor guards together. Kyle, waiting for a sparring session, sat and listened. "Men, you've all heard the news. It's good that we're sending supplies to the army, but they need more than that." Battleaxe leaned against a wall and closed her eye. "I've got a few contacts in the navy still and they sent me along some letters. It's a lot worse than what they're telling us."

"A lot worse? What's the army doing, just sitting around, picking their noses?"

"Hah. Not quite, Josef. The army got caught flatfooted with this attack. It's only rumors at this point, but Armes is throwing everything they have at the country. This is an all or nothing brawl. The news will come out soon for volunteers in a volunteer army staffed by professional soldiers."

"Feitas," someone swore. "They only ask for volunteers if..."

"...if the army or royals don't think they have enough. As in, this is an emergency situation." Battleaxe paced around the room, as though struck with nervous energy. "I'm telling you this for one reason. If any one of you wants to volunteer, I won't stop you. In fact, I'm going to be joining you."

"But ma'am, will they let you in? I mean, 'cause of your eyes and all...?"

Battleaxe grinned her ghastly grin. "I think it's open for any and all volunteers. So that means there might not be an age limit. Only if you physically aren't able to fight will they refuse you. Even then, you might be accepted as camp helpers in some way shape or form." She raised her voice. "I want you all to think about it. I'm going to give my resignation to my cousin at the end of the week. That'll give all of you time to think about what you really want to do with yourselves. Dismissed."

Stunned, Kyle sat where he was, letting the talk of the men wash over him. He didn't quite understand any of the talk except for one thing: his teacher was going to go away forever. "Hey!" he said. "Hey, Battleaxe, can I talk to you? Like, um, privately?"

"Sure thing, pup. Let's go to my little hidey hole 'cause I see you got about a million questions behind those big blue eyes of yours."

"Why are you leaving?" Kyle asked as soon as the doors closed behind them.

"I thought I made that question clear enough."

"But I thought you liked teaching everybody! I thought you liked teaching _me_. Why would you want to just...just _go_?"

Battleaxe sat down in a chair. Her sigh lasted a good long time. "Because this about something bigger than what I want. This is about something I need to do. You heard what I told all of you. They need help."

"Well, I still don't understand." Kyle spread out his arms. "This isn't a bad place to live. Yeah, it's got problems, but it's like every place else. Why just throw it away to go join an army that you're going to die in."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, pup!" She laughed. "I'm hoping to live through it all, but yeah, yer right. I could die that way. Still going to join. They need help real bad, Kyle."

"So the hell what?" His voice grew more annoyed. "Just because some people who run the country and do nothing but argue need help because they can't get their shit together means you're hauling ass to Feitas knows where? They don't care about anyone who's going to volunteer. All they're going to be is fodder for the other side. Then oh look! The brave and heroic soldiers and Queen's Knights will then come to the rescue. None of those people are going to care!"

Battleaxe just looked at him for a long time without saying nothing. "You got a lot of cynicism for someone only 16."

"I know how people really are. Anyone in power just uses and crushes the people below. You _have _to know that. So I really don't understand what you're doing."

"It's going to be hard for me to explain to you since you don't have a concept of country and home. Yer home is any place that feeds and clothes you. I'm going to take a wild stab that it's always been like that for you. Sit yer ass down and let me try to explain it to you."

Kyle grumbled as he sat in his chair. Maybe once she was done, he'd have a chance to tell her to stay.

"I served in the Navy for a lot of years. At first I was thrilled with the chance of having real good pay and doing something I liked. It's only when I got to see some real fighting and horror that I started seeing a larger picture." Battleaxe spread out her arms. "My world got real big.

"The Navy moves from the port of Estrise and cruises all along the Feitas. So I wasn't stationed in one town, but many. There's all kinds of beautiful families and villages in our country. Sure, there's problems and yes, there's always some scum in government, but there's also genuinely good people trying to help us all live decent lives.

"When yer fighting an enemy of the Navy, yer fighting someone who wants to destroy towns, kill families and pollute the Feitas. It's like..." She tapped her thigh. "If you had a house and someone was breaking into it, you'd defend it."

"Well, of course!"

"The way I see it, the whole damn country is my house. If someone's going to screw with it, I'm going to defend it."

Kyle wanted to come up with a rational argument against it, but couldn't. The look in his teacher's eye stopped him.

"So that's how I feel about being in the Navy. With this situation, it's even worse. Armes is already screwing things up and trying to take over. A volunteer army is badly needed to help defend the house."

"That's what you said before. So? Other people can do that job."

"Yeah. They could. There's a lot of people out there that'll volunteer. And because of it, their gonna get killed." She stared at him. "There's lots of people out there who think of their country as their home to defend. Problem is, a lot of those people are the kind who've never held a sword before. They'll be older men defendin' their wives, sisters and husbands. Or some on fire girl who might be good with a bow and arrow for hunting food, thinkin' she'll make a difference.

"If I stayed here, someone like that will take my place. But if I go, then someone like that can stay home and mind their families."

"But...why would someone do that if they have the skill?"

"Because, pup, they love this country. When you love something, and I mean really love something, you will chew off your own arm if that's what it takes to defend what you love."

The words dried up in the back of his throat.

"I'm willin' to bet you might know some people in yer life that aren't the fightin' type. Imagine if because you stayed, one of them had to go."

He could imagine. He could imagine that well. What if the prostitutes of Lelcar had to defend their street from some religious fanatics from Armes? What if Andre the groundskeeper had to use anything other than a rake and a hammer to defend the manor? If he thought hard enough, he even could remember a _flash_ or two of when his mother died. Was that defending out of love?

"But I'll have to leave here." Kyle hadn't meant his voice to sound so whiny.

"Yeah. You'll have to give up yer home. But yer a tough pup. If yer home is where they'll feed you, the army will do that." She stood up and opened the door of her office.

Confused, Kyle stood up too, thinking that was all to the conversation.

"You know what the hardest part of all in takin' a huge journey?"

"No, what?"

"Just takin' a first step. I'm leavin' at the end of the week, boy. You better figure out if you're takin' that step with me."

* * *

War news grew more dire as the days passed. Suddenly a new Queen and King were ruling the country. Senators stopped arguing and were concentrating on training volunteers. A new strategist from another land aided the new ruling couple. Families collected food rations to send to the army. Uncertain looking boys and girls started signing up for the volunteers.

Kyle heard it and saw it all. _War, war, war _became the word on everyone's lips. He tried to perform his chores the best he could, but his mind churned in a constant state of agitation. The lady of the manor reassured her staff that she would help protect them all. She seemed to look expectantly at Kyle for this promise.

He didn't mind defending the manor but it didn't seem like the right decision. Still tormented with his thoughts, he couldn't even talk to his teacher or the other guards who planned on leaving. He was there when everyone got together and sent them off. They'd spend the night in town and leave for Estrise in the morning. He lay sleepless in bed, staring at the ceiling.

_If I can defend the house, then I can save the people here. Why is that wrong?_

Think of the problem on a different slant, so the old crewers said to him when he couldn't figure out how to complete a task the way he wanted.

_All right. I can defend the manor if Armes shows up here. What's wrong with that? It has to be either me being there or Armes being there..._

If things got so bad that Armes really WAS at the doorstep, it wouldn't be a burglar. It would be an army. If things got that bad, Armes could easily cruise the Feitas and sack Lelcar, even though they were far away. It wouldn't matter who's house you defended, it'd be too late for all of them.

_The only way to defend the house would be to defend the country like it was..._

_ "FUCK!"_ he swore. He grabbed things left and right, stuffing clothes and shoes into a sack. He shoved his mother's drawstring pouch into his pocket, tied sandals over his feet and ran for the manor gates.

_I'm going to fucking kill her for putting that thought into my head!_ If he sprinted for town, he should be able to catch up with the rest of them. Then he'd really give her a piece of his mind.


	6. You're in the Army Now

If the manor epitomized an idyllic, carefree existence, the Falenan volunteer army camp breathed weapons, war and barking orders. Kyle, used to being confident in most situations, cringed at his first look at a well-run military. He didn't quite hide behind Battleaxe as they signed their names on the volunteer sheet.

The officer in charge, an older, stubble jawed man, took one look at Kyle and growled. "Blondie, you better cut that hair or make sure it's tied back at all times, you hear?"

"Y-Yes, sir!"

Kyle had given up dyeing his hair, letting it fall back to its natural color. He figured people were too busy trying to fight Armes than worry about things he did two years ago. Not that he ever planned on returning to Lelcar, provided he survived the war.

Their group got shuffled around from tent to tent as names and skills were exchanged. The first rude surprise came as several guardsman were led away. "You didn't say anything about us being separated," he said, pointing a finger at his teacher.

Battleaxe chuckled without mirth. "That's what happens. We're at all different levels. Speakin' of separating...looks like it's your turn."

"But...but I thought..." His expression faltered.

"Don't make that face." She placed her hands on Kyle's shoulders. "You'll be fine. Just listen close. You know the way to survive in the military?"

"Yeah?"

"Listen to what they tell you. Learn. Follow orders. If you can do that, you'll be fine."

"O...Okay." Kyle took a few tentative steps toward the recruiter, then ran back to Battleaxe, surprising both of them with a crushing hug. "I'll make you proud of me. I promise."

Battleaxe's good eye blinked with surprise. She smiled. "Yer such a girl. Go on now."

"Well, well, looks like we've got a new kid with us."

To his credit, Kyle didn't take a step back, but he felt his shoulders hunch as he joined his place in the training line, feeling all eyes on him.

"What's yer name, kid?"

"Kyle."

"Kyle what."

_Oh crap! _"Uh, Kyle, sir!"

"Well, you get points for tacking that on, but I mean your last or family name."

"Ah...Kyle of the Feitas, sir."

A few knowing chuckles came from the men in line.

"Ah, one of them types, hunh." The instructor paced toward him and actually had to look up a bit to meet his eyes.

Only a month ago he'd started a growth spurt. He wasn't quite six feet but Battleaxe and the other men told him it was likely he'd end up being fairly tall.

"Damn, you're gonna be a big blond bastard."

"You're in for it now, boy! Hope you like your new name!" A big brute of a man with a bulbous nose leered at him from down the line.

The instructor turned his attention to the speaker, as fast as a whipcrack. "I don't think you should talk about names, Horse Humper. Blond Bastard here's got one up on you."

"Horse Humper?" Kyle said to himself in disbelief.

Someone next to him whispered, "It's cause he's so ugly, the only play he'd get is from what's standing in a stable."

Kyle had to bite down on the laugh trying to escape his mouth. "Are you serious?"

"Completely. It's just how they show the love around here."

Kyle didn't get a good look at the commenter before everyone was separated out into training groups. Battleaxe's comments about the type of people in a volunteer army rang true. Although there were competent people in the ranks, there were also starry eyed young boys who'd only used a spear to hunt fish in the Feitas. The instructors, to Kyle, seemed to rank him fairly run of the mill. That rankled him, until he sat down to think about it. There had to be hundreds of people who were passable to decent with a sword. Out of those, a lesser amount had actually led men in any capacity.

_Am I learning humility in my old age?_ he thought, amused.

At the end of the day, Kyle milled around with other new recruits. They all held assignment cards for where they would live and work. "I want all of you to know one thing," yelled the instructor. "Those assignments will put you in part of a 5-man or 5-woman squad. Even if you hate the guts of whoever you are with, you WILL learn to work with your squad. We aren't here to be friends, we're here to fight a Sun-bleeding WAR. Any questions!"

"Why don't you _mix_ some women and men together in the tents!" called out a man.

"Because the next thing you'll be asking is whether you can share beds, Randy Balls. You want to have a chance to talk with your fellow soldiers, we'll decide when and where. Dismissed."

Kyle picked his way across the camp, trying to make sense of the directions. He had tied his hair back, as recommended, but apparently most recruits, men and women both, preferred theirs short. An unceasing stream of abuse followed him.

"Wooo, lookit those blond locks."

"Blond Bastard, I'll give you 100 potch if I can use your hair as a towel!"

"A lady can get lost in that hair!"

"Hell, a guy can get lost in that mess!"

One volunteer grinned, bent over and slapped his own ass. "Hey, Blond Bastard, c'mere and give it to me. I bet you're just dyin' to!"

Kyle's temper snapped. Just because he liked long hair didn't mean he liked guys too! "Sure thing, let me find a tent spike and I'll give it to you."

"Oooooooh! Someone is touchy _touchy. _You sure talk big for a kid with road dust still on his boots."

"You sure talk a lot of shit to someone you've never met before." As the volunteer approached, Kyle realized this man topped him a good half foot. _Oops._

"And what are you gonna do about that, kid?"

_I'm going to get the hell out of here before I get in trouble on my first damn day in the army!_ "I'm gonna go find my squad and figure out where I need to go," he responded, backing up, his voice meek.

"Yeah, that's about what I thought, Bastard. You better not pick a fight with me."

He could hear their smirks and sneers and forced himself to turn his head. However, he couldn't resist a parting comment. "Don't worry, I won't. Thanks for the advice, Slap Ass!" Then he ran for his life.

When he finally lost his persuers, Kyle found his tent, a structure big enough for five men to sleep in and hold their gear. He peered inside, unsure of where he was supposed to sleep or put his things.

"Well Sun burn my ass until it smokes. Can't believe I'm seein' YOU here."

Kyle turned around at the familiar voice and gasped in surprise. "Garren!"

He'd last left the older man almost a year ago, the day Kyle had taken up residence at the manor. He'd worked with him in a few crews all over the Feitas. Now the older man looked fit, wearing an actual uniform of grey with patches on the sleeves. "Yep, it's me, Kyle. I see you got tired of that crap dye of yours."

"Yeah well...I thought you said you were going to find a nice quiet job!"

"Wars tend to mess up plans. But glad to see you again, lad. Looks like you'll be a part of my squad. Which...probably might be a good thing."

"Why's that?"

Garren dropped a friendly arm around Kyle's shoulders. "I'm less likely to kill you than other people."

"Point taken."

Kyle had half expected the man he'd dubbed "Slap Ass" to end up in his squad, but his luck kept firm. There was Garren as the leader, himself, two older guys who looked all grim business and a younger guy who looked as though he'd never been in the army before either. It didn't seem too bad of a set up so far.

The food left a lot to be desired, but the stew was hot and there was plenty to go around. On the advice of his new squad leader, Kyle kept to himself in the mess hall and stayed out of trouble. After hearing about what the army deemed as suitable punishment for those who stepped out of line, he thought himself pretty damn lucky all that he got was chased around the camp.

The sound of a mess tray settling in front of him made him look up. "Ah, you mind if I sit here?" It was the younger guy from his squad.

"Sure, go ahead."

Despite his orange hair tied back in a braid, little curls here and there attempted to escape. A smattering of freckles dotted his cheeks. To Kyle, he looked young and fresh from the country. _Probably the only weapons he's ever seen are plows. _That was until the other man reached out a hand for a handshake in greeting. He wore fancy leather gloves tooled with a family crest.

"I just joined this morning. My name's Mischa. Mischa Zenai."

Kyle hesitated just a moment before shaking the noble's hand. "Kyle of the Feitas."

"Oh really? Which part?"

"Uh..." The lack of a nasty comment confused Kyle for a moment. "Near Lelcar."

"Oh, you're from there? I'd always wanted to visit the town, but my parents never had the time to take me. Always running about their estate, you know," Mischa said, waving a hand in the air.

Curious at the reaction, Kyle answered, amused, "No, I can't say that I would know."

Rather than looking apologetic at his social gaffe, Mischa just nodded. "It's dreadfully boring stuff. If you like managing crops, people and potch every day forever, then that's what it's like."

"If you're from a noble home, why are you here?" Nobles usually bought themselves positions in the regular army instead of joining in the volunteer one.

"Well, as dreadfully boring as managing a manor is, I'd much rather have my family do that than be killed by Armes soldiers." Mischa chuckled ruefully. "I confess I'm not particularly good at warfare or even swordplay but I just didn't want to sit at home and do nothing at all. I can't lead anyone or inspire by example but if I can do...oh, I don't know, clean tack or keep weapons sharp, it might let someone else more skilled onto the battlefield."

"That's pretty, uh, different, Mischa." Kyle felt a little ashamed that he'd been so quick to write off the noble on sight.

"You mean it's because I'm not acting like a total snob about it, right?" Mischa grinned. It was the type of smile that invited people around him to share into the joke.

Kyle couldn't help but grin back. "Well I wasn't gonna say it out LOUD but..."

"Hah! Well, I have to keep humble." He groaned. "I spent all day in practice and I saw older farmers with families do a better job than I ever have."

"Maybe you just need a little more time and practice. It takes a while to get anywhere decent." Kyle shoveled the rest of the stew and not too stale bread in his mouth.

"Are you any good with a sword?"

"I'm decent, I guess." Though Battleaxe said he was quite competent, she'd beat some humility into his head. "There's others who are better. You might see if you can't get some lessons from Ba...ah, a woman named Florentine. She trained me a little bit."

"Well, I'd heard that squads start training together. Do you think you could teach me, Kyle?"

"I'm not exactly qualified to do that..." He trailed off. If the army, even a volunteer one, was supposed to equalize everyone, maybe a bastard did have has much right to teach swordplay as a sister of a noble. "But maybe if we see what you really need work in, I can help you out."

Mischa clapped his hands. "My fencing instructor will be very happy if I come out of the army better than when I joined it."

Kyle just looked at Mischa and chuckled. "You are an odd man."

"I get that a lot."

If living on the manor was a carefree dream, being a part of the volunteer army was a drastic wakeup call. At the end of every day, every muscle group hurt like hell. Arms bruised, nails ripped, fingers jammed or broken, eyelids drooped. The all male and all female squads stayed apart except for one free time a week. Kyle would have normally jumped all over the chance for female companionship but he usually spent the free time catching up much needed sleep.

Mischa was as hopeless as he claimed at swordplay. Kyle had to dig deep for patience in helping him learn how not to injure himself. Their lessons drew a moderate crowd which they both ignored in favor of improving. Either because of Kyle's focus or his own natural affinity for weapons, he got tapped to teaching other equally confused beginners. Unlike the other drill instructors, Kyle didn't yell out obscenities but won over his fearful students with charm.

Teachers and officers from the regular army mixed in on occasion, exchanging information, orders and catching up with old friends. They often stopped by lessons, either taking part or imparting what they knew. Kyle and Battleaxe, on the rare occasions they could spend together, taught a beginner lesson. At the end of the lesson they'd practice what they taught on each other, only in actual combat speed.

Whether because of the rush of being with his teacher, the cheering of the crowd or his confidence being especially high, Kyle predicted all of Battleaxe's moves. He twisted his body over the swipe of her blade, landed in a crouch and lashed out at her ankles. When she fell over and he leaped over her for the "kill", she held up her hands in surrender. His heartbeat sounded loud in his ears. Something in his head told him it seemed familiar somehow...

"Attention troops! General Archeon patrolling here!"

"Ranks attention!"

The sudden shuffling around broke Kyle's concentration. Battleaxe didn't follow through with an attack, but pulled herself up and stood up straight. "Pup, put yer weapon at ease."

"Why? Is this guy important? Ow!" Kyle rubbed the back of his head. He wasn't quick enough to dodge the sharp slap.

"It should clue ya in, pup, when they use the world 'general'. Means they're high up in the chain. Ya don't want to get caught slackin' in front of guys like them."

He didn't see what the big deal was, although he did sheathe his practice sword. The guy didn't look like anything special, just an older man losing some of his hair up top. Apparently he was one of the people in charge of the volunteer army. His aides were the "paid-for" type you found in the regular army, the kind that bought their positions. They looked down on their noses at the volunteer soldiers with their mismatched armor and second hand weapons.

Balling his hands into fists, Kyle stuffed down his anger. He'd seen those people time and time again. Maybe not exactly these people, but their kind. The same kind that would spend money for whores in Lelcar's back alleys, maybe even stealing from their households or cheating on their wives. All the time they'd look down on the women as if the Men were doing them a favor by fucking them around or beating them up. He hated, he hated, he hated, he hated...!

"Kyle!"

Battleaxe's hissed warning snapped him back to reality. He force his palms to uncurl, to not look at anything. Damn, it was like his anger tried to take over. It seemed to happen more and more whenever he got into intense fighting matches with swords. _Relax, Kyle. Breathe. I can't make Battleaxe look bad in front of all these people._

"Everyone! I would call a formal meeting but it would take too long to assemble every person in the camp. My staff are going around to all the sections in the base. We will be moving out by the end of the week for the front lines."

Murmuring filled the air. The day had finally arrived. Days had blended into weeks, sword practice into sparring, poor meals followed by fitful sleep. The soldiers hadn't precisely forgotten why they were there, but the training camp was a lifestyle unto itself. Now it had to evolve into the beast of war.

One of the aides clapped his hands. His armor looked to be newly minted and more fit for a display piece than an army camp. "Silence! You would all do well to pay attention! Orders on your squad's movements will be passed down to the respective leaders in two days. Any squad not ready to move out at a moment's notice will find themselves severely punished."

_Who the hell does this guy think he is? _Kyle dubbed the little toady No Scratch. It didn't look like the man knew which end of the sword to stab with.

The general nodded at his aide's words. "I hate to break up a good stirring session, but all of you need to start getting your things together and checking in with your leaders to start breaking up the camp. Dismissed!"

As Kyle and Battleaxe prepared to leave, the general held up his hand. "Not you two. Stay a minute."

Kyle froze in his tracks. A light kick to the back of his ankle forced him to react by staying at attention. Why was this guy interested in the two of them? The general couldn't be from Lelcar, could he? He wracked his brain, trying to remember if anyone named Archeon was a leader of one of the islands.

General Archeon nodded at Battleaxe. "Commendable career in the navy, honorable discharge and coming back to serve your country. Miss Florentine, I've heard you churn out excellent students and apparently this young man is no exception."

"He's a good lad, general. Only had to beat him a few times before he really started learning."

"What's your name, lad?"

It was only because the general paid the proper respects to his teacher did he answer without hesitating. "Kyle of the Feitas, sir!" He ignored the looks and the nudges from the aides.

"Have you had a lot of training, Kyle?"

"I've had a few teachers, sir! Miss Florentine is the best I've ever had, sir!" Maybe that way he'd hold off any slaps to the back of his head.

"I'm curious about one thing." The general crossed his arms in front his chest and relaxed his stance. "You seemed to just know where your teacher was going to attack you. Was that just a pattern to show everyone?"

"No sir!"

"Really? You have a touch of the Seven Steps Ahead?"

Kyle brightened. "Oh, you've heard that before too, hunh? Ba...ah, my teacher says I might have it. It kinda comes and goes. Sir!" He added hastily.

General Archeon tried not to smile. Kyle could tell. It made him like the old man immensely. At least he wasn't someone who looked down on people who didn't have a family name. "I'm quite familiar with your teacher's nickname. Well deserved, too." He chuckled. "I expect to hear more about you in the future."

"Me, sir?"

"Mmhmm. I hope you distinguish yourself in the field of battle and do this nation proud. That is all."

Battleaxe waited for the general and his aides to leave before cackling. "Did ya see their faces, pup? Those aides lookin' like they swallowed their tongues?"

"Pfff, that's why I hate MOST nobles." Since Battleaxe herself was technically related to a noble, he couldn't hate ALL of them. "We could fight any of them under the table any day of the week."

"Agreed. But I'd watch out for one of 'em. The one with the shiny armor, I heard of him. Trying to make a name for himself."

"Well," said Kyle, shouldering some practice blades, "if they're nobles, they'll stick with their own kind and leave us alone."

"Not quite, pup. Sometimes you might get a noble like that as your battalion leader. Happens if there's not enough skilled volunteers. You get one like that...be careful."

"I will."

"No, I mean it, boy." She gripped his arm hard enough to bruise. "This is the real thing coming up. No more sparring, no more messin' around. Yer ready to fight and to kill Armes soldiers now. It's gonna happen real soon. People get to planning and plotting and wanting a piece of glory. The only thing that ever happens in a fight is all plans are thrown out the window in less than 30 seconds. So the only thing YOU have to do, Kyle, is watch out for the soldiers and watch out for your squad."

"Oh, okay." He placed his hand over his teacher's. "I'll try to look out for everybody. Promise."

"Good."

After he helped clean up the training ground, Kyle tried to find Mischa. His teacher's warning to watch out for everyone unsettled him. Their leaders wouldn't seriously do something stupid with Armes about ready to file into the country? Would they? "Mischa? Mischa? Are you in here?"

Mischa sat on his bedroll, staring at the ground. He slowly turned his head up. "Hey, Kyle."

"Hey yourself. What's wrong?"

"We're actually going now. It's really happening. We're going to fight."

"Course we are." He sat down next to the noble. "It was gonna happen one day or another."

"Yeah." The noble sighed and clenched his gloved hands together. "It's just..."

"Just what?" Kyle knew that Mischa didn't possess a killer instinct like some soldiers, but he always tried to pull his fair share and more.

"It's actual fighting now. I mean, I know I said I wanted to help out a little bit and help my country but there's a difference between saying it and actually doing it." Mischa pulled his knees up to his chin. "I'm going to have to fight sometime and I'll probably kill someone. What if I just can't do it?"

Kyle leaned next to Mischa, their shoulders touching. "You'd be really surprised. If someone is coming after you, killing is easy."

"You sound like you've done it before."

"I don't make a deal about it but yeah, I have." He hadn't told Battleaxe or even Garren. Running cargo on ships meant more than keeping the boat riverworthy. Water rats of all kinds tried to steal and hijack vessels. The first time it happened, he skewered a pirate on a glaive and dumped him over the side. So quick and effortless. Kyle thought he should have felt remorse but all he felt was a sense of satisfaction.

"What? Were they coming after you?" The noble's eyes widened.

"Yeah. It's strange. If you talk about it, it seems really hard to do, but once you're there, all the training takes over. Then before you know it, a dead pirate. Or a dead guy from Armes. So I understand why you're scared but you're stronger than you think." Kyle thought this was fair enough advice. You were going to kill someone in war so best to get it over as soon as possible, understand you didn't have a choice and go from there.

Mischa uncurled from his ball and turned to face Kyle. His green eyes looked sad. "Kyle, how old are you?"

"Sixteen, as far as I know."

"I'm twenty years old and I've never killed anyone. I've lived a fairly boring life just being the fifth in line to the family estate. I'm sitting here worrying about what will happen when you already know and have lived it. That's not right."

Kyle's eyebrows raised. "What's not right? Some people are just really lucky and other people have to watch out for themselves 'cause no one else is gonna do it." He couldn't stoke that anger about nobles in front of Mischa. Any sane person would be scared before their first battle. _So what's that make me? Maybe I'm just missing something in my heart._

His thoughts jumbled themselves up in wordless surprise as Mischa embraced him. "Wh-what?"

"I'm sorry, Kyle. I'm sorry that you already know that kind of pain. I'm sorry you couldn't have a nice boring life like mine. I'm sorry all the other guys laugh whenever you say you're from the Feitas. Because like you said, some people are lucky and some people aren't."

He wanted to pull away on general principle but he didn't. Someone was giving him just a second, just a moment to be a little weak and wasn't calling him a coward. Someone like a friend? _Maybe it's not so bad. I don't think I've really had too many of those._

"Maybe I can't change what's happened before but I want to change the future. More people should have a chance to have a boring life, don't you think?"

"Yeah." Kyle's arms tightened around Mischa, embracing him back. "That's actually a good idea."

"So." They chuckled a bit self-consciously and let go. "How about we start packing things and then think about how give more people a boring, safe life."

"All while fighting Armes soldiers?"

"Yes." Mischa grinned. "Think you can do that, Blond Bastard?"

"Hah! Bet I can do it better than you, Quiver Britches." Mischa's camp nickname wasn't any better than Kyle's. "My teacher said that with the war coming up, plans get thrown out the window. The only thing we can do is watch each other's backs."

"Your teacher is very wise." Mischa raised up his forearm.

Whether he'd meant to point to something or pick up never became clear. Kyle instinctively raised up his own forearm and bumped against Mischa's. "The best. C'mon, let's get ready."


	7. Rip Tide

Tense apprehension became the order of each and every day. No more skirmishes or social time between men and women. The squads of the volunteer army got shuffled around and sorted out among the more noble soldiers and officers. Much to Kyle's chagrin, his squad and a few others were lumped together in one battalion. Their leader?

"It is imperative that all of you need to pay attention to exactly what I'm telling you. This isn't a free exchange of ideas. I'm giving orders and you're carrying them out." No Scratch walked up and down to view the soldiers at attention.

The men all swallowed what they would have liked to say. Kyle thought if he learned anything while being a volunteer soldier, it was being able to take a faceful of verbal abuse and his only response being "Yes sir!" or "No sir!" This leader could bark all he wanted but he and the other men of the battalion would be doing the real work. All he had to do was make sure to keep the guys around him in one piece.

More importantly, to Kyle, he had to make sure Mischa made it back to his family. He'd never made friends with other men very easily, if at all. Either he kept comparing them to the ugly Men he'd seen as a child or they were rivals in gaining the attention of a woman. Mischa was different. He was a true friend who he worried about and in turn, Mischa worried about him. They would watch each other's backs in this war or he'd die trying.

Officers didn't bother informing their troops of the way the war was actually going. But with the way the existing forces cheered at the fresh troops, it didn't take a lot of intelligence to figure out things were going badly. Armes had gained a foothold in Sable and they were determined not to let go of their chunk of Falena. Rumors abounded of massive troop movements, of Armes cutting ahead toward the sea and trying to claim Estrise.

Equally strong were rumors of the new royal couple, Arshtat and Ferid, working like no other couple before in trying to fight the invasion. They were using a new strategist from some country far across the sea to the north. Her plans were starting to work. Ferid was heralded as being one of the best commanders to take the post in decades. Instead of just watching things happen and directing, he took to the field, the Queen's Knights right beside him. The soldiers at the campfires would repeat stories and exaggerations they heard about the royal couple.

All these tales meant nothing to Kyle. One royal person or another, they were all the same. At least they were trying to stand up for their country instead of busy killing each other with games of intrigue. But that's what anyone would do if someone was invading their house. You didn't open up the gates and invite them in for tea. You fought back even if all you had in the house was a broom you'd made yourself.

So in his mind, the royals were only doing what they were supposed to do in the first place. There wasn't any need to get excited about a man or a woman doing their regular job. He didn't even know what the royal couple looked like and judging by the stories he heard, neither did anyone else. The men and women of the army were so removed from that life that Sol-Falena and its citizens might as well be abstract concepts. You knew they were there but it's not as though you'd ever meet face to face.

Whether the royal couple were doing real good on the battlefront remained to be seen. Skirmishes between groups of Falenan and Armes soldiers happened daily. The members of the battalion were split into working groups or worked as one depending on the orders that came to No Scratch. They were outfitted with swords and light armor, with a few people given runes based on their aptitude. Sometimes they stood as one unit, working with other battalions to repair roads for supplies. Another time they would pick out Armes scouts in the distance and either report what they were doing or wipe them out.

Kyle's first battle in the war happened fast as his group fell over some Armes scouts by stupid luck. There was a stunned silence as though either side weren't sure what to do. Once an Armes man let out a war cry, it startled the Falenan men to action. Kyle, newly outfitted with a Water Rune, chanted a Breath of Ice spell that slowed down the group of scouts. They didn't stand a chance under Falenan swords.

While the other men of the battalion celebrated this victory over the enemy, No Scratch berated them. "Why didn't any of you think to capture one scout? They might have had valuable information!" He beat his fingers in a steady drumming against that shiny armor.

"With all respect, sir, it happened too fast!" Garren stood painfully at attention. Being the one in charge of the group, most of the incrimination were being thrown at him. "We had just a few seconds to draw our weapons and get them before they got us!"

"And how exactly did you just stumble on a group of scouts and neither one of you realized the other was around?"

"Might be the windy trails in the rocky parts hid us from each other, sir!"

"Might, maybe, I think, THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH!"

Kyle bit back a gasp at how loud No Scratch screamed in Garren's face. Garren kept his posture, but didn't look in their leader's face. The battalion held its breath, not knowing what would happen.

"In the future, Garren, if you want to keep leading, you will follow my instructions. First, if you are in, as you say the 'windy trails in the rocky parts', you will be sure to have someone ahead of the group to scout the way. Second, if you come upon any scouts, you will stop and assess their numbers. Then and only then will you attack and you must capture at least one of them! Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir. It is, sir."

"Good." No Scratch stalked around the soldiers. "Maybe you think I'm being extremely harsh, but there's a reason for it. There are forces coming into Sable and there will be pitched battles fought. We need every little scrap of information we have. Even if all we get from a captured scout is what they know about the number of horses, it gives the entire army a way to prepare.

"It's good to kill Armes soldiers but not every scout has the same information. If we can capture enough of them, we'll get more insight into our enemy. That, gentlemen, is why you need to think before you react, even if you're surprised." No Scratch looked up at the sun for a moment. "For now, everyone is dismissed, but rest well. Tomorrow there will be more missions."

The soldiers walked back to their respective tents. Only when they'd put some distance between themselves and their leader did the insults start to fly. "Prick!" "Sun smoke his ass!" "Feitas freeze his balls!"

"Knock it off!" Garren smacked the back of one man's head. "Doesn't matter what you think, it's all in what we have to do. We gotta follow orders."

"But what if those orders suck balls?" Kyle retorted

"HEY! What did I tell you about proper address, Blond Bastard?"

"Sorry. What if those orders suck balls, SIR." Men started chuckling. The tension in the air lowered a few notches.

"What if they actually don't? What if he had a good idea but it got jarbled up in the telling?"

"What? Try me, old man."

Garren gathered the men around and started drawing a little map in the dirt with a stick. "We got surprised and we reacted. That's not hard to figure out. But we should have done is this. Kyle, next time we find a group of scouts, use your Breath of Ice. Then when they're reeling from that, the rest of us can capture them. 'Cause I've been doing some thinking."

He pointed the stick at a few Xes. "Let's say each of these are scouts and each of them knew something. Like the noble was saying, say this guy knows about horses. This guy knows about where he's been and what they're looking at. This other guy knows where the food is going. If we captured maybe one guy, we'd get some idea there'd be Armes guys rolling in somewhere. Maybe another guy we'd know they've got a big supply chain. You get the idea.

"Each guy would tell us a little something. Like a small chapter in a book. But what if we had all the guys and the whole story. The whole story would say Armes is swinging everybody north and cutting for the river and slipping past our lines."

Kyle chewed on his thumb. When Garren spelled it all out, it made a lot of sense. It really wasn't that different than what No Scratch was trying to say. Damn nobles always thinking themselves better. If he'd just explain it, it wouldn't be so bad.

Garren provided a decent buffer between the soldiers and their volatile leader. Kyle soaked in the lessons and tried to listen and interpret the way the others were beginning to do. It certainly helped when trying to explain things to Mischa.

Poor Mischa never enjoyed being screamed at when he couldn't follow instructions to the letter. However, he never demanded special treatment as one noble to another. That won him praise from the other men of the battalion. They tried to help the young noble out whenever he couldn't quite pass muster. They respected the fact he was under Kyle's protection, so to speak and they'd run to find Kyle if they couldn't solve whatever problem was going on.

It's what several soldiers did the first day Mischa killed someone in a minor skirmish. Kyle's heart thumped hard in his chest. _Please don't tell me he cracked. Feitas and Sun, please don't tell me he cracked. _"Okay, guys, leave this to me. Can I have some privacy? Or as much as you can give?" The battalion members nodded and offered to run interference in case No Scratch needed some bodies for another mission. Kyle took a deep breath and entered the tent.

Mischa lay in his bedroll, looking up at the patches in the tent ceiling. He hadn't escaped his fight unscathed. A thick bandage covered his left hand.

"Mischa? Hey, heard you had some combat today." Kyle sat down cross legged on the ground, right beside the bedroll. "Heard you did all right."

"Yeah, not too bad. Just I finally had to do what I was afraid to do. He was coming after Bartlet and those Raftfleet guys and I had to protect them so I...I cut him down from behind." The noble sighed deeply, as though it felt better after admitting his crime.

"You saved the guys. That's good." Kyle squeezed Mischa's uninjured hand. Mischa sounded as though he weren't cracking. Maybe it was just shock. Just him trying to process what happened.

"It's terrible, Kyle. I just feel sick thinking about it."

"Mischa, if you didn't do anything, those guys would-"

"No. No, not about that." The noble sat up and stared at Kyle. His eyes were wide, haunted with new burdens. "You were right. It's not hard to do at all. It's -easy-. So -easy-. It's a terrible, terrible thing to realize. But I know if I didn't do it, they'd do something terrible, too. It's just a cycle of evil. That's not the worst part."

"What is?"

Mischa's voice broke. "I have to go out tomorrow and be expected to do the same thing again. And this time I'll know what kind of evil I'll be doing."

The tone of his voice broke Kyle's heart. He wanted nothing more in that moment to pull Mischa away from that pain. All he could do was pull the noble in his arms.

The action became a catalyst for Mischa to wail out his sorrow. He wept to the gods, to the Sun to forgive him his actions and the Feitas to wash him clean. Even Kyle found himself crying, wanting to steal away that pain and carry it on his sturdy shoulders. Time lost its meaning as both of them sobbed the insanity out of their systems.

When they'd both calmed down, they found themselves curled around each other in the bedroll. "Kyle? Don't go. Stay right here."

"Mmm." It was all the response he could give. They were bone tired with grief and all they could do was keep each other warm.

"This is good. Just this." Mischa rested his forehead against Kyle's collarbone.

"You know...this would be better if you were a woman."

"What?"

"Well, I mean they're softer and more attractive looking for one."

"You know, if I squint my eyes a little bit, you could look a bit like a woman. I mean, you have the hair for it."

They both snickered. "My hair's better," said Kyle. "But...this is good. I like this. Everything bad kind of goes away for a while."  
"How are we going to explain this without people assuming...well..."

"Fuck 'em. It's a fucking war going on. If holding each other makes us less crazy about Armes tearing up our country and what we have to do to get them to go away, then we'll do what we want."  
"Hmmmm. It's probably better than getting drunk. At least we'll be sober for morning roll call."

"Damn straight we will."

"I know one thing I'll be doing after the war. I will be fighting tooth and nail to make sure there will be no more killing. I want to make a place of peace. And one more thing."

"What's that?"

"I want you there with me. Kyle, if you don't have any place to go after the fighting is over, come with me back to my home. I think you'll really like it there."

Kyle had no idea what kind of look he must have had on his face. His brain froze at the casual offer thrown out by the noble. Misinterpreting the look, Mischa continued, "You don't have to be worried about your background or anything like that, Kyle. It wouldn't be important anymore. You would adopt my family name and that would be that."

A home. A real home. Even though he was treated well by Volga and the other orphans, it was never really a home. It was just a place to live. The same with the manor. That was just a place to live and work and screw pretty women. He hadn't had a real place to live since the dirty alleys of Lelcar. Could he really find that place with Mischa?

"Kyle? You're just kind of staring into the distance. Are you all right?"

"Yeah! Yeah, just, wow, Mischa, I'm really surprised. Are you sure you want to give something like this to me?"

Mischa sat up and gripped his shoulders. "Why wouldn't I? You are worth it to me."

There were always stories among the older soldiers of chance meetings turning into lifelong relationships. Just as war and death reigned over the battlefront, so to did life and love. Finally, Kyle realized how true it really was. All he had to do now was live through this war and he and Mischa could live the rest of their lives on the sleepy family lands in their boring lives. It would be great.

The heavy fighting began days ago. No longer did each side content itself to pick off each other's scouts. Pitched battles between hundreds and later thousands of soldiers echoed through Sable's dusty valleys and rocky slopes. Men and women watched and waited, torn between wanting to prove their worth to their country and breathing a sigh of relief when their battalion stayed behind.

The bloodiest of battles stretched out for miles. It was not a complete line of Falenans versus a complete line of Armesmen. Rather, there were concentrated groups in the main fighting and countless snarling, vicious attacks up and down the valleys. Kyle's battalion had acquitted itself well in the heavy fighting, but found itself on the sidelines for what would later be called the Battle of Sun Scorcher Valley.

They were being held in reserve, waiting for the chance to bloody a few Armes troops. The main fighting was taking place three miles away in the center of the valley. The battalion waited near the southern end of the valley with other troops. Though this part of the land had been taken over by Armes, they stood as a buffer to make sure Armes troops couldn't run around to attack the backs of the Falenan soldiers. Towering cliffs flanked the narrow trail. Next to the westernmost cliff face rose a hill where Armes posted some kind of camp. What exactly it held couldn't be seen from a distance, but it seemed to act as a guard tower, offering protection for fresh Armes troops from the south trickling through the narrow opening.

All the previous day and night, the battalion waited and maintained their distance. To Kyle it felt like the childhood game of stare down, trying to force your opponent to blink first. Garren kept everyone fit and battle ready with drills and tried his best to cool hotter heads intent on doing damage.

Soldiers breathed a sigh of relief as a messenger trotted to the camp. His colors proclaimed him a regular army man and a subordinate of Lucretia Merces herself. "It is under orders that all the battalions of this area are to withdraw along designated paths. You are to draw the enemy toward you and then they will be hit by ambushed attacks hidden in the hills. This enterprise will be taken up very soon." The messenger bowed, handed the written orders over to No Scratch and sped off on his horse.

"So, we'll bait them and trick them. A good plan," Mischa murmured.

"Yeah, it is." If you couldn't stare down your enemy, faking them out worked just as well. Armes might not follow them, but then again, they were the invaders, wanting to grab every bit of Falena they could. So of course they'd follow and get slaughtered. Then some other groups would regain control of the valley and cut off the Armes route.

No Scratch made a good show of contemplating the sealed message. He shook his head and proceeded to rip the message into little pieces. Men exchanged looks with each other. Muttering began and picked up volume. "All right, that's enough out of all of you. It sounds like a pretty plan but it's asking a lot of us as men, isn't it? Showing our backs to the Armes soldiers! That Grasslands woman obviously doesn't think very highly of us if she thinks we'll just blindly follow along her plan that will get all us all shot and killed."

_Oh shit. _This was what Battleaxe was talking about. Men taking things into their own hands. What was he supposed to do in this case? Follow along? Raise an objection? He looked at Mischa worriedly. The noble squeezed his hand back. Whatever happened now, he had to look after his friend.

"Well, if we aren't going to follow the orders, what are we going to do, sir?" Garren asked. Everyone looked at the commanding officer.

"There isn't that much distance between us and the mouth of the valley. Maybe a quarter of a mile? There aren't that many men lingering either. We are going to charge them and hold the valley. Look at how narrow the trail is! A few men can easily hold it, guard it and build something to block the way."

Something in Kyle's gut said it couldn't be done. While the men around him were starting to reconsider the plan, Kyle tried to think the plan ahead. In order to hold the trail, they would need sizable supplies and heavy timbers to create a sturdy door. Where were they supposed to get these from in this Sun bleeding valley with little shelter? And even if they could hold the trail with only a few men, the narrow gap lessened the amount of men it would take to reclaim the trail. All Armes would have do would equip every man in their line with a bow and arrow and start taking shots at Falenan soldiers.

This just wouldn't work. Why couldn't their commanding officer see that? _Because he's too busy thinking of his own record and how Sun bleeding frustrated he's been he can't make a name for himself. Damn nobles...except for Mischa. _

Kyle patted his armor. Inside a pocket deep inside he kept a letter from Mischa. Mischa kept a similar letter on his armor from Kyle. The idea was if one of them were killed, the other could hang onto their last thoughts and deliver them to their loved ones. Kyle already had sent Battleaxe a previous letter before the heavy fighting, wishing her luck and long life if they never met again. His letter Mischa carried was for Mischa alone, letting him know how much his offer of a family had meant to him. Odd, he thought, he'd never bothered to write a letter of love to any woman he'd fancied but to the man who would be his brother someday, the words poured themselves out.

"We'll stick together, Kyle. No matter what," Mischa said, readying his sword.

"We'll be ready."

No Scratch, riding on his horse, gave the call to march for a few minutes and then once they were closer to the rise near the cliffs, to charge and kill any Armes soldier they saw. Even if the men had any objections to this plan, they were swallowed up by the fever of the fight to come. Finally they would have their chance to defend their country.

"Steady all of you. They see us coming and will hold their ground. We'll cut them down!"

A wild ear-splitting cry filled the air. Armes soldiers leaped from the ground. Covered in grass and dust, they emerged from countless hiding places. Kyle's mind immediately flashed back to the messenger's words. What if Armes just did what they were supposed to do by baiting and trapping them? Archers winged their shots into the air, making No Scratch duck low on his horse. There were few other archers and Armes on horseback. Even if it was impossible to tell how matched or unmatched they were, a good charge should break them up.

Instead, harassed by the enemy, No Scratch wheeled his horse around and ran from the field of battle, chased by the other horsemen. Fear turned Kyle's guts to ice. Before the fear could spread, Garren's voice rang out clearly. "Don't watch that coward! You are going to fucking charge and put the fear of Feitas and Sun into these bastards! CHARGE!"

No finesse. No strategy to Falena's attack on Armes. Just kill or be killed and hope to the Feitas and the Sun you managed to live. Kyle's military issue katana hacked away at man after man. Even in the press and confusion, he always tried to keep Mischa somewhere within his vision. He heard Garren's howling and the cries and curses of battalion soldiers. One of their few spearmen ran a suicide course, skewering archers before being hacked to pieces.

Confusion settled into dozens of separate fights. Mischa and Kyle gasped for breath and stood side by side. A group of ten Armes men cut them off from the main Falenan force. "Mischa," Kyle panted. "Mischa, how do you want to do this? Charge 'em?"

"They'll take us both. We split up."  
"What?"

"Split up. Don't engage, just run around them. They'll split their forces. Run to the nearest Falenans you see."

Kyle nodded and wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes. "Got it." He tapped his forearm against Mischa's and grinned. "Fucking Armes! Thinking they got us."

"Stupid fucking Armes you mean."

They ran away from each other at the same time, cutting around the group. Kyle found a wellspring of energy somewhere and only heard the wind whistling in his ears. As soon as he found a good place of defense, he whipped around, katana at the ready. But there was no one to fight. All ten Armes men had run after Mischa and cut him down.

Kyle changed direction and sprinted back to the fight, crying out for the fallen noble. The Armes men laughed and joined their other forces. "_MISCHA!"_

Blood ran from multiple wounds in Mischa's armor. He whimpered in pain. "K-Kyle."

"Hang on, I'll get you some help." Kyle frantically tried to stop the bleeding, hands shaking. "I've got you, Mischa, I've got you."

"K-Kyle." Mischa reached up and grabbed Kyle by the collar, forcing him to stop and look him in the eyes. "You c-can't. Too late. Go. Go fight. Go help."

"Mischa..."

"You always...always protect me." The noble smiled. "This time...I protect you. Go fight."

Words dried up in Kyle's throat. He squeezed the noble to him, not wanting to let go.

"Love you, little brother. Go."

Because he was pressed so close to the noble, Kyle swore he felt the soul leaving the body. Disbelief clouded his mind. He lay the noble's body tenderly back on the grass. It was just like...just like...

_Blood on the walls, the bed, the floor. Agony in her eyes. "Run baby, just run!"_

"Oh how precious. Look at the little sunfluff mewling for the dead."

"Don't know what you're crying about. You're about to join him."

_It's a dark alley. A huge man with a sword is going to kill him. He doesn't want to die, wants to live LIVE!_

Kyle leaned down and kissed Mischa's forehead. He sat up, his features slack. Unconsciously his hand reached for his katana.

"Look at him. It's like he's dead already!"

"Hey, hey sunfluff, we're talking to you! Can you hear us? Can you look at us?" Any other taunts the man had died, stillborn in his throat. Kyle's eyes were as blue as they could be, the pupils contracted to mere pinpricks. Because he'd been so busy staring at Kyle's eyes, he never saw the sword that sliced his head from his shoulders.

The other nine men backed off. Even though they clearly outnumbered the Falenan soldier, something in the man's eyes froze them in their tracks. So they watched him casually wipe his blade on Armes armor. He kicked the beheaded body away from his fallen companion. Then he smiled. A beautiful, terrible smile. The Falenan raised his sword at eye level, grinning. That wasn't a stance to protect himself at all. It was a perfect height to go for heads.

Other Armes soldiers grew distracted from the cries of fear. They looked over and saw a Falenan soldier beheading Armes men with every slice of his sword. When he killed the men in front of him, he began to run toward other Armes men and slice them down. There was no reaction in the man's eyes, just a wide blue stare and a grin.

Armes men had outnumbered the Falenan forces and had savaged their ranks. This man gave them pause. "Rip tide!" someone screamed. Other men took up the cry, even as the blond fiend slashed his way into the thick of the Armes fighting.

Anyone living along the banks of the Feitas, its many tributaries or near the ocean itself knew to be respectful of the water. Just as the water could provide a home and a source of life for many, it also hid dangers. Tides circulated in and out, bring in water, taking in water. High waves pounded the land and capsized boats. Those were dangers anyone could see. The most deadly of all were rip tides.

You couldn't see a rip tide even on the clearest day of the year. They were invisible to any eye until they grabbed a hold of you. They were the deadly currents that pulled the unwary away from shore. You could try to swim back to shore, but the force of the tide invariably tired out the swimmer and drowned him. The only way to escape from a rip tide was to swim parallel to shore until you felt the current leave you. Then if you weren't too far out in the water, you could swim for safety.

In Armes culture, water was associated with their hated enemies, the Falenans. Water rats, fish fuckers, river spawn, the insults and terms heaped upon them went on and on. There was one special term that they applied to the most deadly of fighters. In their own culture, a man crazed by the taste of battle, one who howled for blood and was a chaotic force of nature unto himself was labeled a "beserker."

There were men worse than that. A man who had been taken by a deep fury but didn't call out battle cries and who just walked into the field, killing all he saw was a "rip tide". The reason? Trying to fight against a man who had no regard for personal safety was useless. All a rip tide did was kill anything in his path without remorse. The only way to survive a man like that was to get the hell out of his way and leave him alone.

Anywhere Armes colors flashed before his eyes, Kyle cut them down, wiped his blade on his enemy and proceed to repeat the process. Without conscious thought, he hacked his way across the Armes line. Cries of "rip tide!" reached his ears and it made him smile. _Yeah. That's what I am._

The remaining Falenan forces, watching Kyle carve his way into the line, rallied behind him. They formed a wedge of soldiers, ripping and tearing into the Armes front. Soldiers from Armes began to retreat, running for the valley mouth.

Kyle threshed through Armes men like a farmer scything a field of wheat. He barely registered the remains of the battalion following him. Nor did he realize he was fighting up the trail to the rise. Only when he'd reached the top did he have a moment to draw breath.

The members of the camp had been watching the horrifying spectacle in the valley floor below. They couldn't run anywhere except climb a spindly rope ladder to the height of the cliff or throw themselves from the rise. Men and women huddled together, afraid they would have their lives ended by the blond rip tide devouring their comrades.

Faced with no one raising a weapon, the terrible rage in Kyle's faltered. Fractured thoughts surfaced through the relentless tide of anger.

_Women huddled together no sir don't hurt me orphans with Volga hiding away from the bad men hurting them no show kindness no fight here mother oh Sun MISCHA no hurting the weak will be a better man don't hurt them stay your blade show...show..._

"Mercy!" wailed the women and men. "Mercy!"

Kyle crashed his blade against someone from his own battalion. "_Don't!_" he screamed. "_Don't you DARE!"_

The remaining soldiers scaled the heights of the rise and arrayed themselves in a semi circle around the camp members. The man who had tried to clash with Kyle lowered his sword. "They're Armes troops."

"We're better than Armes! They asked for mercy and we will give it to them. Everybody lower your damn swords!" Only after the words left his lips did Kyle realize he'd shouted orders as though he'd been in charge. Surprisingly, all the men complied. They stood around, panting for breath, looking at him.

Kyle looked back at all of the men. He then turned to Garren. "I...I'm sorry, you're the one who should-"

The older man shook his head as though amazed he was being consulted. "No, boy. You're the one who led us through hell. We followed your lead. You keep leading. You tell us what to do."

"That's right!" "Go with Kyle!" "You lead, Blond Bastard!"

Faced with the unanimous support of the men, Kyle bowed his head and accepted the responsibility. What should he do first? "Uh, some of you go into the tents and see if there's anything that can aid anyone who's injured. You and you, herd the Armesmen together. Treat them with courtesy. Everyone else do what you can to hold our position."

Men scrambled to follow Kyle's orders as though he'd been leader all along and not all of five minutes. Kyle looked down at his armor; blood splattered it from neck to toes. None of it was his. He became conscious of his hair feeling stiff; he didn't want to guess what was streaked there. _No wonder these people cried for mercy. _"Garren, can you come here?"

"Sure, boy. What do you need?"

"What...what do I do now?" Kyle lifted his arms up.

"Well, you've got a good start. Armesmen are gonna eventually come back through the trail so we'll need to decide if he stay here and fight or take everything we can and run for the main force."

Kyle wiped his blade clean on the side of a tent before sliding it into his sheath. They couldn't hope to hold back the Armes army, so running seemed like a good idea. Then he noticed the rope ladder scaling up the side of the cliff. His mind started to chew on an idea.

He walked to the group of Armesmen and crouched down. "I won't hurt you. We'll make sure you are taken care of the best we can. I just want to ask some questions."

"We will tell you anything you want, just don't hurt us, Rip Tide!" spoke up a woman. She appeared to be the de facto leader.

"What do you have in this camp?"

"Food, medicine, maps, a few weapons, some horses. We just have supplies to outfit our troops."

"All right. How many more are there waiting to enter the valley?"

"I...I can't betray my country, sir!"

Kyle took a deep breath. "All right. Let me ask a different question. Very reasonable. Is there anybody else coming?"

The woman bit her lip and nodded.

"Okay. That's fine. Last question. What's the ladder for?"

"It's to reach the top of the cliffs. Sometimes we have sentries there." Someone else from the party piped up before the woman could respond. She whipped her head around, glaring with venom.

"All right. Thanks. If any of you are hungry or thirsty, now's the time to speak up." Kyle let the other soldiers take requests from the prisoners. Now that everyone had a chance to rest, the tension in the camp lessened.

"Garren, find everybody in the battalion who has a Water Rune and anyone who has a pike or glaive."

"All right boy. What do you need 'em for?"

"I have an idea. I just need to see if I can make it work."

Half an hour later, soldiers milled around at the top of cliff. There wasn't much up to see except for more rope ladders (which Kyle had lowered), signaling mirrors and the cracked and bone dry rocks under their feet. The trail curved back and forth in the cliffs, making it hard to see a good distance ahead. But they could see a dust cloud forming and getting larger.

"What's the plan, Blond Bastard? You want us to throw spells at the Armesmen?"

"Yeah, shouldn't we get archers or somethin?"

Kyle knelt down and touched the cracked ground. It looked as though the cliff had seen untold years of rain and wind to dig deep into the rock. This might work. "No, we don't have enough people to do that. Anybody with a pike or a glaive, I want you to jam that weapon in those big cracks. The ones real close to the edge."

"Why?"

"Just to do it! Make those cracks real wide."

While the pikemen complied with a lot of colorful commentary, Kyle turned to everybody with a Water Rune. "When these guys are done digging, I want you to use Breath of Ice."

"Use it on what?"

"Pour it into the holes. Use every damn spell you got. We'll layer them over each other. It'll make more sense once we get rolling." The men looked at him as though he'd lost his mind, but no one outright disagreed with him.

Ever since No Scratch decided he would barricade the trail, the obvious problem came up: how do you block a trail with natural defenses if you don't have the supplies to do so? If there's no trees to be had and no seige weapons of any kind, can you block the trail? Kyle's mind, chewing on the problem, spat out an answer: yes.

As part of the regular training, men were tested in their aptitude for Runes. Kyle tested excellently for Water, so he'd been gifted with one by the army Runemaster. Any man or woman testing high in any rune gained additional training. If it was a physical rune or something more to aid status, they were grouped together to learn how best to use their runes in a group setting.

Those with skill in the elements sat down in groups to learn more about that particular element. Everyone knew what water could do. Water Runes healed, used ice spells and could silence all magic users in a group. Ice froze enemies so you had a chance to dispatch them before they could escape. One unique feature of ice always had stuck in the back of Kyle's mind.

Unlike nearly every other element in the cold, instead of contracting, water turned to ice and ice always expanded. In northern countries where winter was a yearly occurrence, continual spells of snow and ice would seep through the paved highways for caravans and travelers and crack the very stone.

They didn't have the howling winds and snow of winter to help them, but they did have spells of ice. Kyle's plan was simple. With enough spells to sink into the earth, they could crack off some boulders and plug up the trail. He didn't know how long his makeshift barricade would last, but it would buy them time. If they stopped up the trail and ran for the main forces and told them what happened, by the time Armes broke free, they'd meet up with thousands of angry Falenans.

That was the plan anyway. The dust cloud in the distance looked as though it were getting closer. "C'mon, guys, keep chanting!"

The first rock broke free and bounced down to the trail below. The rock was only a small thing, not even as big as a man's head. The spellcasters saw the result of their work and their eyes lit up with understanding. "Kyle, you're not just a Blond Bastard. You're an EVIL Blond Bastard!" roared one of the men.

"It'll only work if there's enough cracks in the rock. Keep digging and casting. Owen, where's the army at in the trail?"

"Coming up fast. Someone's gonna start showing up here in fifteen minutes or less."

"Shit." Kyle wiped the sweat above his lips. "Call down to the camp. Have Garren get everyone ready to hide in the tents if this doesn't work." If they couldn't block the passage, they at least could steal everything they could, including their hostages. Hopefully someone might make sense of all the information and treat the prisoners with respect.

Another sliver of rock broke off and tumbled to the trail. It still wasn't enough. Kyle grabbed a pike. He found a likely looking hole some distance away from the cliff edge and dug the pike in. Men whose runes had been tapped out started dragging up the rope ladder. If Armes discovered their camp had been taken, at least the men up top would be safe to deliver messages to Falena. The rope ladder would help them climb down somewhere else on the plateau.

"Kyle, five minutes."

Where was the time going? Kyle threw aside pike. At this rate, the rocks would only serve as a minor distraction and were easily moved. He needed just one horse sized boulder to really block the trail. He raised up his Rune hand and chanted a Breath of Ice spell. He could hear the ice race inside the rock, cracking and breaking. _Feitas and the Sun, help me. Just help me save someone today. _There just wasn't anymore time.

Another spell traveled into the crack. This time Kyle couldn't even hear its passage. Did that mean it traveled further? "Kyle, we're almost out of time!"

_Mischa, Mischa help me. Just a little chunk of rock. Enough time to block Armes and run. Enough time to pick you up away from there. Give you a proper burial like a noble. So you can at finally go home to that boring manor where nothing happens. _His final Breath of Ice spell wandered somewhere in to the rock.

"Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."

It sounded like a big cat growling low. Men looked at each other. The sound grew, as though the earth tried to clear its throat. "Kyle, the Sun bleeding bastards are heading up the trail now," yelled Owen. He had to yell because the odd sound was beginning to make it hard to hear anything.

Without knowing why it was important, Kyle screamed, "Everybody back up! Run away from the cliff edge! Back behind me!"

Either spooked by the noise or getting used to Kyle being in control, no one tried to give him grief. Men ran what they hoped was a place of safety. The earth trembled, forcing them off their feet. They grabbed the rock as through they would be tossed into the sky.

_CRACK!_

No one had ever heard such a deep and final sound. If one of the titans of story, the men tall enough to touch the clouds, had his neck snapped, it would sound exactly so. Without preamble, the cliff shed itself of layers upon layers of rock. They tumbled and ripped chunks out of the opposite cliff face.

Armes soldiers in the trail below screamed in horror. With the trail being so narrow, there wasn't any room to turn horses or push men in the opposite direction. Immense boulders crushed untold Armesmen instantly.

The new edge of the cliff started only a foot from where Kyle clung to the earth. Gingerly he peered over and gasped in horror. The trail wasn't just blocked; it had been wiped out. He'd called on Mischa for help and Mischa had definitely answered. His brother had been avenged a hundredfold. Any anger that remained in Kyle's heart vanished in the face of the utter horror far below. What had he done?

Curses and oaths fell fast from the men's lips. They all looked at each other. No one of them had ever imagined they could wreak this kind of devestation with simple spells of ice. They looked to Kyle for some kind of answer. Kyle wet his lips, trying to form words around the dryness of his throat.

"The land," said Raxen, one of the soldiers.

"What...what about the land?" asked Kyle.

"We was doin' what you said and prayin'. Feitas and the Sun, make 'em go away. Send 'em to hell for tryin' t' take our land. The land _answered!_"

Since not a single one of them, including Kyle, had planned to rip out the earth, the earth must have done it itself. "The Queendom herself is shutting its doors to Armes," said Owen.

This explanation made the most amount of sense to Kyle. His mind literally could not comprehend that he had done this all himself. So if the land felt itself being used, why not punish Armes for invading it? Even if men and women didn't agree with the nobles, most everyone believed the land was blessed by the Sun Rune. What if in using all the power of water, linked to the Feitas, the Sun felt it had to respond?

"Sun and the Feitas! Sun and the Feitas!"

Men in the camp cheered as they descended on the rope ladders. "True Runes, boy, you made the land pissed off enough to do something about Armes!" Garren exclaimed, clapping Kyle on the shoulder.

Soldiers yelled and hollered. With the danger gone, buried under tons of rock, they jeered in the direction of the Armesmen. "The Blond Bastard will burn you!"

"Kyle of the Feitas! Kyle of the Feitas!"

Others took up the cry. "Feitas! Feitas!"

Kyle didn't know who they were cheering for more, the spirit of the river or for him. Intoxicated with the cries, he forgot his sorrow and felt his spirit soar.


	8. Deflect the Blame

Falenan forces, from the common to the noble born, drew hope from the landslide. Everyone heard the noise but it was only later they found out the cause. Praising the Sun and the Feitas and new royal couple, Falenans drew strength that the land itself was fighting their hated enemies.

Without the additional troops, Armes was forced away from the Battle of Sun Scorcher Valley. Long were they harried until they could travel around the cliffs to reach their forces again. The battle ranked the highest in death toll for either side. Both sides took the time to lick their wounds and reassess what their plans would be.

Arshtat took control of the random landslide. She said if Armes didn't like what the land had in store for them, just keep on attacking. Only if Armes managed to make it to Sol-Falena would she dare don the Sun Rune. That was the agreement between herself, Lucretia and Ferid.

_Just as well there's a landslide. Maybe we have breathing room now. _All Ferid desired was a chance to breathe. He was no stranger to all manner of combat and had led groups in victories before up north, but nothing of this magnitude. All he could do was continue to lead men as he always had. It seemed to have given him a lot of popularity among the army.

Popularity might keep the men from deserting but it couldn't keep men from being killed. Ferid removed his feather earring and wove it in and under his fingers. It was either that or laugh hysterically at his losses.

He hadn't known any of the Queen's Knights well, as they were holdovers from the previous regime. This was an odd custom, having a select group just focused on the royal family. However, as he saw the previous rulers make frivilous war on each other, he realized how vital they were. Falenan politics were not for the faint of heart or those without guards.

A lot of them didn't like him at all, but they fought when he ordered them to. He thought he might have garnered some level of respect for the Queen's Knights in his short time as commander. They had different styles, personalities and specialities but they were all good fighting men and women.

Because of the importance of the Battle of Sun Scorcher Valley, all ten knights participated. The house guard of Sol-Falena and Sialeeds, sister of the queen, vowed to keep Arshtat and the children safe. It would have to do and continue to have to do for the immediate future. Of the ten Queen's Knights under Ferid's command, eight were either dead or too injured to continue fighting for the rest of their lives.

How hard to write the letters of condolences, to mark the funeral pyres of the dead and give words of comfort for those who had to retire. Harder still, Ferid thought, to have his only two knights left look to him for instruction. He wanted to quit, wash his hands of everything. But he couldn't. He had to keep leading the troops. They were finally making progress.

Galleon and Zahhak stood at quiet attention, ready for instructions. Whatever they thought of watching their comrades be slain and retired, they did not say.

Zahhak was a young man, only 22. His hair was naturally grey colored, as was the tendency in certain noble families. He'd been appointed to the Queen's Knights not long after Ferid assumed his title. Still new and getting to know his position, he'd had no choice but to accept the appointment from Lord Godwin. The man was cold but precise. He hadn't slacked on the battlefield since the war started. He believed in doing whatever was necessary in defeating Armes. Ferid had had to talk him out of his more outlandish plans, advising for a moderate approach. He'd find no friend in Zahhak but at least he would find no traitor there either.

In contrast, Galleon was older than Ferid by at least a decade, if not more. Having served several Commanders of the Queen's Knights, Galleon had become something of a fixture around Sol-Falena. From what Ferid understood, people respected Galleon far more than the previous commanders. He hadn't been particularly liked by his comrades, but the older man was the type to not care about petty grievances. All that mattered to him was upholding the oath of protecting the royal family. He held no interest in politics, staring down any who would try to sway him to Godwin, Barrows or otherwise.

On these two men would Ferid have to rely on, until they could recruit more.

"Commander, what are your orders for the evening?"

"I would like you and Galleon to rest and gain your strength back. As long as Armes is in retreat, we should take the chance to rest. We'll be breaking camp in two days."

"Are you still intending to go about your troops disguised, commander?" asked Galleon.

"I plan to. Just for tonight." Ferid badly needed to ascertain the morale of his troops. It was one thing to have generals tell him everyone was ready to fight. It was another to hear it from the lips of the men and women themselves. He could not longer mingle with everyone as he pleased, unless he took to wearing armor.

"Is that entirely wise, Commander Ferid?"

"Probably not," he admitted, which took Zahhak aback. "But I think it's necessary."

With a helmet on and a set of regulation armor, Ferid looked the part of one of the thousands of anonymous people in the army. He wove through camps, talking to people, dicing, drinking, listening to men boast of their accomplishments. The mood seemed upbeat. Men were taking heart in the victory.

At the same time, give a man a pint of ale and they would shed tears over the many lives lost. The noble sons and daughters, the farmers, the river folk, craftsmen and people who just didn't want war on their doorstep. Ferid took a sip of whatever was being passed around.

Slightly addled with drink, he became a little disoriented in the camp. Ferid had to sidestep a few battalions moving for various reasons. Eventually he found himself in the less organized camps of the volunteer army. Battle and loss had started to even out the perceptions between the common soldiers and the ones in the regular army. But he still heard the occasional "bastard born" or "money grubbing noble." He mentally added this problem to his wish list. So many things to make right in this country!

Tired, he slid down the side of a tree and lifted off his helmet, wiping off his forehead. It was dark so Ferid thought he'd be safe. That is, until he heard the sound of someone sobbing on the other side of the trunk. Cautiously, he peered around.

His first impression, a high blond braid, made him think the person was a woman. That is until he remembered a lot of men in Falena kept their hair long and braided it back. He saw a flash of profile and realized his companion was a man. The man turned his head suddenly and scrubbed at his eyes. "Shit, man, you scared me!" Young by the sound of his voice. "I mean, uh, sorry, sir, I didn't see you were there."

"I apologize, it was my fault for not announcing myself." Ferid inclined his head toward the young man. "I didn't mean to intrude on your grief."

"It's...it's okay." The young man rubbed furiously at his face. "It's not like anything's gonna change."

"You lost a comrade in the fighting, I take it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." He sniffed and sat with his back to the tree. "Everybody's so happy about what happened. Yeah, we beat back Armes and things are looking up. But I just don't fu...uh, I just don't care. It just doesn't seem to matter anymore. Sir," he tacked on at the end.

_So young and so hardened already. _Ferid itched to know which battalion he belonged to and why his superior officer wasn't trying to counsel his men. He had to back off, though. He already had more than enough problems then trying to take on one more. Words would have to do. "I understand that feeling. Seeing people you've worked with suddenly cut down. And you're still alive to fight another day."

He thought he saw the young man peer at him in interest. "You wonder why you and not him? Or her? How did you get lucky and someone did not? You can make yourself go crazy, son."

"Do you lead a battalion, sir?"

"I do." Although to be technical his "battalion" was all of the army of Falena. "It breaks my heart to see men and women under my command fall in battle."

"Does...does it get any easier?"

Ferid sighed. "No, it doesn't. What you learn is how to move on in spite of that grief. You take their sacrifice in your heart and vow to keep going with the life you have. When the fighting's all over, you pray to the gods and hope those you lost are in a better place."

The young man turned to face him fully. A passing torch lit his features briefly. So young, younger than Zahhak, possibly at the cutoff age for volunteer soldiers. His looks were the sort that would have young women swooning around him. Except his expression was hard and without cheer. "So you just have to keep going even though it kills you inside?"

"Even so."

A mirthless chuckle. "Figures." He offered a wineskin. "It's full of water, though."

"I've had enough wine for one night." Ferid took the gift and drank deeply. It cut through some of his fuzziness. He handed it back. "Thank you."

"Thanks for telling me the truth instead of trying to tell me lies, sir."

Ferid donned his helmet again. "It will get better, son. We will defeat Armes and we will get our country back." He stood up to leave and stopped. "What's your name, son?"

"I'm just a blond bastard from the river, sir."

The commander was about to ask him to clarify that statement when he saw he no longer had an audience. _So hard on himself. Someone from Raftfleet, maybe? _Likely he would never see the young man again. Still, Ferid hoped he wouldn't forget the exchange. He needed to talk to people like this. It helped him stay realistic and cognizant of how far his country had to go before it could be a place to be proud of itself.

* * *

After the battalion had taken prisoners and supplies away from the cliffs, they stopped to retrieve the dead. It broke Kyle into tiny pieces to wrap Mischa's cooling corpse and take him away. He placed the letter, the one he looked after for Mischa, onto the body. He returned his personal affects except for a signet ring.

Mischa had given that to him the night before the Battle of Sun Scorcher Valley. The ring now sat inside Kyle's drawstring pouch, along with precious items belonging to his mother. Maybe they would meet in the hazy lands of the Feitas Beyond. Would they like each other? He hoped so.

The death of the person who would have been his brother weighed on his soul heavily. The unknown officer in the night had told him as much. He didn't say how incredibly hard it would be to keep moving. It was so tempting to just lay down and never get up. But he couldn't. The men all looked to him for guidance.

Tense didn't even begin to describe the scene when the battalion members found No Scratch. Kyle wanted to kill the man but knew this wouldn't bring Mischa and others back from the dead. Sullenly they got back into line only when Kyle said they still had a job to do.

No Scratch berated Kyle and the men for their insolence but stopped when Kyle showed no emotion. Just that hard look in his eyes, as though rage were kept in check only just so. A fragile balance kept everything in order. No Scratch received orders and gave them to the men. Sometimes they would be official but other times they would be decisions made on the spot, regardless of what was in the torn apart messages. Kyle would consider these orders and then tell the men to move out.

In later battles, Kyle often directed the men in more advantageous positions. He recalled Battleaxe's story about Seven Steps Ahead. He didn't know if that's what he was doing consciously, but occasional flashes of ideas would pop in his head. Somehow things turned out better for his suggestions.

All Kyle hoped for now was an end to the fighting. It was getting closer each day. Fueled by victories on the front, Arshtat pushed for a diplomatic solution. Hope began to grow. However, hope could be a double edged sword, Kyle thought, especially when it was taken away.

* * *

With the end of the war looking more like a fact than a dream, Ferid now had the task of trying to refill the Queen's Knights. If he had four knights, he would feel safe with them guarding the royal family so he could ferret out Nether Gate. So he needed two more to fill his depleted roster.

"There are any number of qualified soldiers who could fulfill the postion, commander," said Galleon. "You only need to ask for their record."

"You could also accept the recommendations from the nobles," said Zahhak. "In a time of crisis like this, it is better to fill the ranks than to have a long interview process."

"I dislike fulfilling any position with someone I've never worked with or by reputation alone. However, you are right, Zahhak. I can't afford to be too picky." It galled Ferid to admit that. He knew if he kept letting the members of the Senate pick his knights, it might be seen as favoring one side or the other. Worse still, that the Senate would think it was their right to appoint knights and gods knew who else.

Unfortunately he needed to make a decision now. "Do either of you, in your personal experience, know of quality candidates that would be ready to go?"

Galleon rubbed his chin to think. Zahhak nodded. "There is one I know of. She has been highly trained and has earned good praise. She is the daughter of Sir Rodax, gods rest his soul. Her name is...Alenia, I think."

"Alenia? Commander, though I haven't seen her peronally, any child of Rodax would have expansive training. It would be a good choice." Galleon nodded.

No doubt Rodax was a Senate appointed knight in the past, but if Ferid put his daughter in the Queen's Knights, it would be his decision. The appointment would have some stink of the Senate around it, but removed by a generation. Hopefully she would learn quickly. "Very well. Zahhak, go find out where she is now. Once we're released from this war, we can bring her along swiftly."

"Commander." Zahhak nodded and left the command tent.

"None of the other knights have children with the kind of training Alenia would have, Commander Ferid. You might have to pick a soldier in the ranks."

"I know, I know. But I don't want just a fighting machine. I need someone different."

"Different how?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you." Ferid looked up from his reports. "Ah, Lucretia, welcome. Galleon, please make a sweep of the general camp. See if you can't hear about some promising soldiers in the army."

"Of course, commander." Galleon left the tent, parting the flaps with his massive glaive.

"So what kind of plans do you have for me, Lucretia? Any more devious ideas?"

Lucretia always carried a fan with her. It served to draw the eye and hide the face as she deemed fit. Now, she folded it and tapped her chin with it. "No. However, now that we're somewhat calm, it's only now come to my attention that there's been an error in one of my plans."

"An error? What do you mean?"

"The Battle of Sun Scorcher Valley. The land rebelling against Armes. One of the battalions deliberately ignored my orders in favor of plans of their own. Had the landslide not happened, we would have definitely lost the battle. As it stands, because this matter didn't come into my hands now, it's likely other messages I've sent to this battalion have been ignored. We may still have battles to fight, Ferid. I don't like having entire sections of the army deciding to ignore my plans."

"Never mind the precedent it sets. Do you have any idea which battalion it might be?"

"Not entirely, but I know it's one in the volunteer army. There were three in the general area of where the orders were given."  
"Hmmm. Make some inquiries, would you? As for a punishment, five lashes for every man willingly involved and ten for the leader. Along with either a demotion or an outright dismissal for that leader."

"Ferid, I'll find the person responsible."

Later in the day, Galleon returned. "Commander, I might possibly have an answer to your dilemma. However, I'm not certain if I believe what I'm hearing."

"Go on."

"There's a rumor going around that someone cut down at least thirty Armes soldiers in the Battle of Sun Scorcher Valley single handed. Moreover, the same person led a force to capture vital Armes supplies and hostages."

"Really." Ferid liked the sound of it already. Someone who could be ruthless if necessary and stop to think? That was the something he was looking for. "Why don't you believe the rumor, Galleon?"

"Because it's someone from the volunteer army, sir. I don't know how much training those kinds of soldiers get, but nothing that would give a man that kind skill."

"We shouldn't dismiss it out of hand. Do you have name?"

"I only managed to get a first name. Kyle. Nicknamed 'the Blond Bastard'."

Ferid laughed. "Perhaps he's a giant among men? A merciless bastard in a fight?"

"Possibly."

"Galleon, it can't hurt for us to find out more about this merciless man. When you have a moment, bring me some records." _Maybe I'll have my four knights after all._

* * *

Although there hadn't been a call to go to battle lately, Kyle didn't want his fellow battalion men to be caught slacking. He had them train with sword and pike in small groups. He tried to remember what Battleaxe had taught him and tried to teach the men in turn. It was the kind of thing No Scratch didn't enjoy because it underscored his lack of authority. Still, there wasn't anything bad about it. It didn't make their cowardly commander look bad in any way. No Scratch did that himself.

Kyle wondered if he couldn't get his old teacher to come and do a few drills with the men. Every day he'd stopped by one of the man information tents and looked for her name on the list of the deceased. He hadn't found it yet.

He watched Garren and a few of the older guys have little sparring match. Because he was paying attention to them, he didn't see the spear shaft that slapped him on the back and sent him sprawling to the dirt.

"That's the one. The one who fancied himself a leader." Kyle heard No Scratch's voice piping up with excitement.

"Damn, Julius, you should have taken him out sooner instead of waiting for this excuse."

"Who the hell are you guys?" Garren asked.

Kyle shook his head to clear it and flipped around. Several soldiers flanked No Scratch. The man's smile edged toward vicious. "Oh, I have you now, law breaker."

"What in the name of Sun and the Feitas are you babbling about?" Kyle asked. He started to stand and froze. The spear points aimed at his body made him reconsider.

"It's not just you. Don't worry."

Kyle couldn't turn around to see what was going on behind him but it sounded as though there were other spears being poked at the members of the battalion. _Shit, what is going on here? What did we do?_

"I suppose you're wondering what this is all about." No Scratch walked among the immobile members of the battalion. His grin edged toward manic. "Well, I'm going to tell you. You see, the queen and her consort don't take kindly to those who flagrantly abuse the law."

"The law? What law? What'd we do?" A spear shaft smacked into Garren's back.

"You are all charged in continually disobeying orders delivered by the messengers of Lucretia Merces. The army, even the volunteer one, is no place for any man to do whatever he pleases in search of more glory."

"Fucking bastard!" "Horseshit!" "We seen you tear them up!"

He would have liked to offer his own curse, but Kyle said nothing. Dread crept into his stomach.

"Do you know what the word is for men who defy the words of their monarch during a time of war? Well, do you, you simpletons?"

"Treason." The word slipped from Kyle's lips. It silenced everyone into a state of fear.

"That's exactly right!" No Scratch stalked before Kyle and grabbed a fistful of his collar. "Treason. That's quite the heinous crime. But it's only what you deserve for ripping up those orders."

"I didn't rip up anything. Those orders are supposed to go right to our commanding officer and no other. How would I get to them?"

"Well, I don't really know what you did to get to them, but you've finally been caught. You've been strutting around here pretty tall and proud, Blond Bastard. Leading the men because you thought you knew better than I do. I hope your men will be following you to the gallows. That's what they usually do to execute traitors."

Words died in Kyle's throat. He knew No Scratch was a coward but what he hadn't counted on was the man's back handed attack. Treason! Even if they were all executed, everyone's families would suffer forever. Treason was the curse on your children's children or so the saying went. Who would shelter a family, give them food or work if someone from it was accused of going against the crown?

Even though No Scratch manhandled him, making it hard to swallow, Kyle didn't fight back. How he could possibly fight against the most evil story ever written against him?

A noble decides to ignore the rules and grab the glory. His mistake is costly and forces him to flee the field like a craven, leaving his men to die. Some die (_oh Feitas, Mischa!_) but enough survive to counterattack. Someone else leads them to a victory so wild that they don't tell the truth about it. They say it was the land and not the efforts of determined men. But that leader is looked up to. The noble decides to try again and again but the men only look to their real leader. The noble is humiliated and decides to strike back. He gets his noble friends to imprison them. Because nobles will only believe the word of other nobles, No Scratch spins his tale. Black turns white and white turns black. Traitor turns into injured party and men just trying to survive turn into traitors of the crown.

"However, it appears that the crown has decided to be lenient. Perhaps these people just ignorant of what they've been doing. Perhaps they think they know better because in their minds, it's what they honestly believe. They think they can run themselves better than their own commander just because their commander is a noble and they aren't. The crown understands your envy. You're just simple people and simple people are always envious of what they can't have." No Scratch let go of Kyle's collar and wiped his hand on his armor, as though wiping away some taint.

Kyle's blue eyes shined with fury. He choked on his words but one look at his eyes would tell anyone his thoughts. _Fuck you and yours to the ninth generation!_

"But you've still all committed a crime and you need to be punished. According to the law, it's twenty lashes of the whip for each man involved."

The air turned blue with cursing. Kyle's mind raced. _Twenty for each of us? _He looked at his fellow companions. Some of them were men approaching 45 and better, like Garren. _That'll kill some of these guys!_

"I want to see proof!"

"What?" No Scratch stared down Garren.

"I said I want to see proof. All I've heard is what you've been tellin' us. You at least got an order about all this?"

Hope rose for one second before it crashed into the ground. "Of course I do." The noble held up a piece of paper.

No one could really see the contents, but it was official looking with lots of black ink. At the very bottom, the royal insignia of the Queendom of Falena sat conspiculously in red wax. It was hard to mistake the image of the Sun Rune and the Feitas paired with the palace at Sol-Falena.

If you could smell fear, the air became rank with it. Men looked at their friends and all had the same question in their eyes: _Oh shit, what is going to happen to us? _In turn, they all looked at Kyle. _What are we all going to do?_

For some reason, Kyle thought of the noble soldier the night after Sun Scorcher Valley. Sure, the man might be just as crooked as No Scratch, but he'd been kind to Kyle. _"So you just have to keep going even though it kills you inside?" "Even so." _There was a man who would move heaven and earth for his soldiers no matter what.

Just like that, Kyle knew what he had to do. "I want to make a deal."

No Scratch, who had been joking with one of his noble friends, stopped and walked back to Kyle. "What kind of deal? Traitors don't have a lot to work with."

"I want you to let them all go. They didn't do anything wrong." Even while his mind screamed at him to stop, his voice grew in strength. "I want to trade."

"Trade what? What could you possibly offer me to let these men off the hook? They committed a heinous crime!"

"They were following my orders. So that makes me the one ultimately responsible for all of them."

"Go on."

"Since all they were doing is listening to what I told them, then the only one to blame is me. So the only one who should be whipped is me."

"Kyle! That's the best suggestion I've ever heard from you!"

"Boy, don't you DARE!" Garren yelled. "Don't you dare take all of this on yourself!"

"It's all my fault and I accept the responsibility," Kyle said, raising his voice.

"Well, usually the crown doesn't exchange punishments like this. But what you say makes complete sense." No Scratch nodded to his friends, who started chuckling. "So why not? We'll have you take on all the punishments and everyone else will be free."

"Swear it! Swear it on the good word of a noble." Kyle knew the man was slippery enough to evade capture. The least he could do was get him to leave the other men alone. The only way to do that was to have a noble swear on his or her good word. As the custom went, nobles were as good as their word whereas "filthy" commoners couldn't be trusted to keep their promises.

No Scratch hesitated. His fellow guards waited. One even spoke up, "Julius, he asked you to swear. He's got that right. A man's got a right to make sure his men are taken care of, even one like the Blond Bastard."

_Did I just win some sympathy from a noble? _Kyle didn't have time to ponder the statement.

"Very well. I swear on my good word that everyone BUT you will go free."

"Thank you," Kyle said, his tone fervent.

"I don't think that's what you'll be doing tomorrow. In fact I'm pretty sure you'll be doing everything but thank me." No Scratch turned his attention to the nobles. "Take him prisoner and make sure he doesn't get away. As for the rest of you...you've been granted a sweet reprieve by this lowly bastard. You are _my _men and you will perform to _my _standards. You are all going to watch his punishment fulfilled tomorrow. You will remember this and know you will never think of going beyond me ever again."

"You gonna fight us about this, boy?" asked one of the guards.

"No, I'll go with you. You don't have to tie me."

Kyle walked quietly among the noble guards. They didn't walk far before stopping at a tent.

"Get inside. You'll stay here until tomorrow."

No need to ask if his guards were sticking around. Their shadows stretched across the skin of the tent. Kyle lay down on a small cot.

He thought his life would end someday in a bar or after being caught with someone's woman or lately, in battle. He hadn't counted on the crown ending his life. Kyle knew the number of lashes he'd taken on would kill anyone. Even if by some miracle he was still alive, just the infection and loss of blood would probably do the trick.

He hadn't planned on sacrificing himself until No Scratch mentioned treason. Every single one of the remaining men of the battalion had someone they could call family. Wives, children, grandchildren, cousins, sweethearts, all of them would be tainted forever by their punishment. Kyle didn't have anyone. With Mischa dead, the possibility of having any family had dried up. So if he died no one would be left to suffer his mistakes.

_Mischa, don't worry. I'm going to come find you soon. Wait for me._


	9. Beaten

_What in the name of smoked kraken is going on here?_

These were the thoughts of Battleaxe as she prowled among the tents and divisions of the volunteer army. She hadn't seen Kyle since before Sun Scorcher Valley. Now with the need for training dying down, she decided to pay her erstwhile student a long overdue visit. The stories she heard about him made her cackle with delight. She just had to know first hand what exactly he'd done. The way the men were distorting things, it sounded like Kyle caused the landslide himself.

Something eerie filled the air. Men and women moved about their tasks without talking or looking at anyone else. It was as if they knew something that she clearly did not.

She spotted Garren as he filled up a bucket of water from the communal well. Kyle had pointed him out to Battleaxe a few times, calling him a good leader and "not too shabby for an old guy." She had to agree. Up close he wasn't bad looking at all. "Hey, Garren, right? What's going on today? Did someone die?"

"Bat...ah...Lady Florentine, nice to see you. Do you think you could help me draw some water? Captain Julius wants me to help get water for the men."

Battleaxe's sense of dismay grew. She knew of Kyle's noble captain and his humorous nickname everyone used. No one really respected the man, but had to go along with him. This kind of respect and even fear toward the little toady meant something very wrong. "Sure, I don't mind helping ya."

The older man knelt down to pick up a bucket. "Help me look at all these. Some of them have holes in 'em. Wanna make sure that's not the case."

"All right." Battleaxe knelt down. As she did so, she sensed that the other people of the camps took key positions around the well.

"Lady," Garren hissed. "They're gonna kill Kyle in about thirty minutes." Before she could draw breath, Garren grabbed her hand. "Don't speak. They're accusing us of bad things we didn't do. Kyle stepped in to take everybody's punishment. They're gonna whip him til he dies."

"What bad things?" she whispered. _Oh sweet ocean, what did that boy do?_

"Captain not takin' orders. Ripping 'em up, doin' his own thing. It's what happened during Sun Scorcher Valley. He fled. Kyle led us all. Captain decided to fix Kyle good. Not a damn thing we can do. Everyone's scared. Don't know what the noble captains are gonna do next."

"Shit." She looked over the buckets, checking for holes. Her mind worked feverishly. "And there's no proof to say your captain did these things except your word, right?"

"Well...I got one thing. I just don't know what good it will do." Garren fumbled with something in his pocket and handed it over.

Battleaxe turned the wax seal over in her hand. It was still stuck to some paper backing.

"It was from the battle. I found it later in some grass. Thought it'd make a good keepsake for later if I lived."

"I think it might do a lot of good." She rose and helped fill the buckets with water.

"Hey, Garren, you and your friend better hurry up! I have water to get for my guys too!" called out someone.

It was only then Battleaxe realized all the people surrounding them weren't trying to spy but to give them warning. _Shit, shit, shit. I don't know if there's anything I can do. But I'm not gonna let that pup die!_

"Garren, good of you to get help for your task." Captain Julius strolled toward the two of them. "I'm not sure I've seen you around before. Is there something you're looking for?"

_Think, think, think. _"I was trying to find General Archeon to deliver a message for him. I'd heard he went this way and then saw this gentleman who needed help with the water." _Where the hell did I just pull his name from?_

"The general?" The captain chuckled. "Whoever told you he was here gave you false information. He's in working with Battalion 75, two camps north and one west of here."

"Well thank you. I appreciate it." Battleaxe felt the eyes of all the volunteer soldiers on her back. She forced herself to walk at a measured pace. _If I'm gonna be trying to get some help, I guess I should go to the general. He seemed interested in what me and Kyle were doing. _The constant stares scaled her back like boiling water. Only when she left the camp properly did she run for her life. Or rather, she ran for Kyle's life.

By the time she actually reached the general's tent, she gasped for breath. "Please! I have to see the general! Please!"

"What is this all about?" The general, hearing the commotion, poked his head out of the tent.

"Please, sir! Ya have to help me save a man's life. Something very ugly is happening in this army."

* * *

Kyle ignored a last meal and a drink. The last thing he wanted to do was shit or relieve himself when the pain got too much. He'd heard enough stories of what happened to condemned men to not want that. He would try not to cry out much. He also wouldn't run or make this difficult. He sat on the cot in just a faded pair of black breeches. Last night they removed the Water Rune from his palm so he couldn't heal over any injuries.

The only thing he wished he had was his mother's drawstring pouch. Did one of the men gather up his stuff after they took him away? There was no way for him to ask the men. He hoped the nobles hadn't stolen it.

"Kid, it's time." A guard entered the tent. "You gonna come quietly?"

"I'm ready."

Barefoot, he walked inside a circle of guards. He thought he caught a sympathetic glance from one of the men. _Why would they care? I'm just a dead man now._

The middle of the battalion camp had been cleared except for one thing. A wooden platform with poles and chains awaited Kyle. He swallowed. _They'll chain me up to hold me in place._

Men from the battalion mingled around the stocks. There were others too, people from other local camps. Apparently they wanted to see a traitor get his licks. He spotted Garren's anxious expression. He was trying to tell him something, but Kyle wasn't any talent at reading lips.

No Scratch, his armor glistening in the sun, gestured for the men to tie Kyle up. The captain watched the proceedings, walking around the circular platform. "Blond Bastard. Kyle of the Feitas. You are hereby charged with treason against the crown. Your punishment is to take every lash meant for every men you led. As I gave my word that your men wouldn't be harmed, it means we will whip you until you die. If you die before you've reached the end, we will continue to flay your corpse raw. Then we will feed your body to the crows."

Fear choked him. Nothing could be done now. He nodded once.

"We are not without complete mercy. You will be blindfolded for the proceedings. So you cannot try to convey a message and your men cannot do the same for you."

Kyle had never thanked No Scratch for anything, but he did for this small favor as the guards wrapped a cloth around his eyes. He hadn't been sure he could stand this punishment while looking at the pitying faces of his men. "Also," No Scratch continued, "if you utter any curses toward anyone, we will start the count over. Do you have any last words?"

He shook his head. He couldn't change anything. He couldn't inspire anyone. He could only die and hope somehow this balanced whatever divine scales that existed.

No one was going to save him from this. That's what he thought when the first lash whipped across his back. He didn't have time to try and brace himself. He struggled to stand upright. He heard the breathy gasps of pain from the people in the crowd. _Mischa, Mother, help me. Wait for me._

* * *

Ferid paced inside the command tent. He couldn't make himself concentrate on any of the numerous reports on his desk. "Galleon, is there something going on today? I feel on edge."

"Not to my knowledge, commander."

"Hmmm. Any luck on locating this Blond Bastard?"

"Not yet. Finding information about any one person in this army is like separating a drop of water from the Feitas with just your eyes."

"Commander!" Zahhak ripped open the tent flaps. "We have a problem."

Ferid exchanged a look with Galleon and they both followed Zahhak.

Lucretia Merces was questioning two people with increasing agitation. Whatever was being said was not to her liking. One of the strangers was a general, Archeon if Ferid remembered correctly. The other was an older woman with a lurid scar on half her face.

"What is going on?"

"Commander," said Lucretia, flipping her fan in front of her lips. "Our plan to flush out our rule breaker has netted us a catch. However, according to the testimony of these people, the crime is being pinned on someone else who, at this moment, is being whipped in his camp."

"It's five lashes a man and ten for the leader. How is this a problem?"

"Whoever is administering this punishment upped the ante to twenty lashes a man and charging every man involved with treason. However, someone called the Blond Bastard has called himself the leader and accepted all the punishments. I don't know how many men were involved but this man will probably be killed."

"What?" Ferid's mind raced. The stories were true then. This man, called Kyle, did lead the men to victory. But did he really disobey orders? _Wait, I've never heard him called a captain. Just a leader. Did he step in because someone couldn't? _"Is there any possible proof you have of this other than your word?"

"Yer lordship sir. One of the men in the battalion gave this to me, he did." The woman handed over a blob of wax with paper backing.

Ferid accepted the gift and turned it over in his hands. The knights and Lucretia peered at it. "Commander, look. There's writing on the back."

"Let me see." Lucretia's mouth thinned. "It's a date. The date of Sun Scorcher."

"It doesn't prove who ripped it," Zahhak said.

"Yes, Sir Zahhak, it does." The strategist gripped her fan, her knuckles whitening. "I assumed that someone received my instructions and someone else in a group disregarded them. I didn't realize someone just ripped them into pieces. My messengers have strict instructions to deliver these to the captains of each battalion."

"So you're saying an innocent man now is being flayed from his skin?" _Not in my damn army. _"All of you, come with me. General, go back to your men and get all your officers. I will not have this happen. Hurry!"

* * *

Hazy, dazy, floating pain, sun scorched, blood hot, wet. Tears, salt, taste on the tongue. Chains to bind, to hold up 'cause legs don't have the strength anymore. Throat ripped raw, but still voice to scream. Silent now, just gasp and cry. Gasp and cry.

"Kyle, you have now taken on the punishment of five whole men. One hundred lashes, aren't you pleased?"

Who was telling him this? He didn't know anymore. People would tell him things, would ask if he wanted water. He couldn't see anything, wrapped in darkness. All he knew he had to do was to hang on. _Deep as the Feitas, high as the Sun? No, cold as the Feitas, hot as the Sun. Yeah, that one. Cold as the Feitas, hot as the Sun. _

"You're proving to be quite the cooperative prisoner. But you're getting quite weak. I can tell." Something lifted up his chin. "I'm even willing to grant you special dispensation. Cry for mercy and I'll let you go."

What? No, no, that's not right. His addled brain knew he couldn't accept the offer. He couldn't remember precisely why but only it would be bad. He entered the pain world because he didn't want other people to be in the pain world. His pain world. "...no..." he whispered.

"What was that?"

"...no..."

"So you're willing to throw your life away? Everyone! I know you couldn't hear it, but this pathetic wretch has decided to ignore my goodwill." Kyle felt his chin being dropped. "So since he wants suffering, he'll get more."

Hazy dazy pain world balancing on uncertain ground and _lash with bite of nails and claws FEITAS FUCK IT ALL no, can't curse, don't curse keep it in hang on._

"Do you like that, Kyle? That's the difference between a whip of leather and a whip with leather and thorns."

"Julius! What in Sun's name is wrong with you?"

"He spurned by offer! He just always has to have the last word even if that word is 'no'."

_Pain pain pain this is it, it's all over. Cold as the Feitas hot as the Sun deep as the Feitas bold as the Sun AAAAAAAAHHHHH!_

Scratching nails, talons, swords piercing flesh and wail wail wail little bastard wail 'cause this is the end, the end of everything. Cry and cry 'cause it's the end. Cough for breath 'cause it's the end. No one's gonna save you.

_"Stoooooooooop!"_

Clap of thunder on the world and the terrible, horrible thing goes away. It's just dark. Not silent. So many people are talking now, it's hard to make sense. Doesn't matter though. The thunder said stop so that must be it. No more sun here. Just the dark. The dark? _Dark as the Feitas there's no more Sun. Deep as the Feitas...dark as the Feitas...sink deep deep down into the water..._

Although he couldn't see and now couldn't hear anything anymore, he imagined the cool water taking him in. He dove into the depths and left all the pain behind.

* * *

As he galloped toward the camp on his horse, Ferid swallowed down his rage. How dare someone do this in his army? How dare someone try to kill a fellow soldier just to hide from his own crime? From what he understood of the man, Kyle sounded physically fit with an ability to take a few blows. Hopefully they'd get there before too much damage had been inflicted.

Galleon and Zahhak rode on either side. The woman, called Battleaxe, clung to Galleon's back like a barnacle on a ship and Lucretia rode behind Zahhak. As though sensing some change in the air, everyone cleared their path, drifting away like low tide. Ferid wrenched his horse around so sharply to turn he almost fell over. But there! Right up ahead, a crowd and a platform, soldiers and a man with with blond hair.

There are certain moments in a man's life that for whatever reason are perfectly preserved. Ferid's mind captured everything, possibly because he was still too far away to make it stop. The bleeding mess of back. The man with armor that glinted in the sun. A raise of a whip. A lash. A scream. A wail to wake the dead that kept going on and on as the man flailed at the prisoner.

_"Stoooooooooop!"_

The man with the whip stopped and turned around. The bloody instrument dropped through his fingers.

"In the name of Arshtat the Queen you will hold what you're doing! Nobody move!" Ferid roared. "Zahhak, Galleon, hold the soldiers!"

"_Kyle!_" Battleaxe fell off Galleon's horse and ran for the prisoner, sagging between the stocks. She ripped the stocks from the platform and caught Kyle as he fell. "Someone! Please someone has to have a Water Rune!"

_So it is that man in the stories. Gods. _"Anyone with a Water Rune, help heal that man!" Ferid ordered. "Lucretia, you're with me. We're going to find out exactly what's going on here."

"As you will, commander."

"Pup, ya better hold on or so help me I'll kill ya myself. Kyle of the Feitas, I'm talkin' to you, pup," said Battleaxe.

Something sickening dropped in Ferid's stomach. He ignored the calls of his knights and strategist and found himself walking slowly toward the fallen man.

Except it wasn't a fallen man, no. A fallen teenager. Eyes wrapped in a black blindfold. Long blond hair. The looks that he thought would charm women. They were marred by the ripped flesh, the strings of blood and gore. A flash of bone.

_"I'm just a blond bastard from the river, sir."_

_ He told me who he was. It never occurred to me to connect the story and this kid together. _He'd let this young man go because he couldn't solve the problem. And because he didn't stop to solve the problem, Kyle lay on the dirt with his back ripped open.

Somehow Ferid found the strength to move beyond the awful guilt crippling him. He swallowed and drew breath. "Please gather as many Water users as you can find. When he is more stable, take him to a tent. Bind his wounds as best you can."

He took each step back toward the noble soldiers with deliberate calm. He drew his sword. Pointed it at the one who had been holding the whip. "If that man dies, I will execute you myself. Do you understand?"

"C-C-Commander Ferid! I was only fulfilling out a punishment! Th-the man's a criminal!"

"That is in some doubt." Lucretia slapped her fan into her palm. "I think we need to get all the parties sorted out here. Ah, and now we have enough help."

General Archeon and about twenty other men on horseback arrived, circling the group. Two women leaped off their mounts toward the party trying to heal Kyle. They looked to be medical personnel of some sort, as they quickly took over and started directing people to take Kyle away.

_Good. He'll live, I'm certain. _Ferid didn't allow himself to entertain any other possibility. He turned his focus on his knights and strategist. With the help of Archeon's soldiers, the nobles and the volunteer men were separated. One of Archeon's soldiers, digusted with the blood spattered stage, set it on fire with his Fire Rune. A few of the volunteer soldiers clapped.

"Now I want to know what you thought you were doing by whipping a man into raw meat," said Ferid.

The man, one Captain Julius, regained control over his stuttering voice. "I was fulfilling a punishment that you had set out, commander. I knew that _bastard _had been ignoring my orders and trying to lead all the rest of my men into ruin. I didn't have any way to regain control until you passed out your order. I got a few of my fellow nobles to help me retake my battalion away from the usurper. The punishment called for whipping everyone involved but the _bastard _said he could take on all the punishment himself. That's what I was doing when you arrived."

"All right. Now I want to hear what your men have to say."

"Commander! You can't trust the word of any of them! They all willingly followed Kyle's plans and will do anything to get out of their punishment."

"From what you just said, their punishments have already been taken care of. So I'm highly interested in what they have to say, trustworthy or not."

Galleon's heavy hand on Captain Julius' shoulder forestalled any more complaints.

Ferid turned toward the silent and perhaps scared looking battalion men. "I want to hear your side of the story."

Silence. Men looked at each other, unwilling to speak.

Ferid tried again. "I need to understand what has happened here. Will none of you speak up?"

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, commander sir," said an older man. "You signed the order to punish the guilty. Twenty lashes for each man, that's what it said. Sayin' it was all treason against the crown. We don't want to know what you'll do to us after this."

_Twenty lashes? What the...oh no. No no gods no. _"So..." he said, his voice wavering. "You're telling me that Kyle took on the punishment for all of you, knowing exactly what would happen?"

"Yes, sir, commander sir."

"How many lashes do you think he took before we got here."

"Uh...dunno. About hundred ten, I think? Not sure of the exact amount, sir."

"I see." Ferid stopped talking. He almost couldn't breathe. That kind of loyalty and willingness to do the impossible was not a trait that could be learned. In Ferid's experience, it was an inherent quality he'd seen in a rare few. _He's a little like Georg, _he thought.

"I can understand your reluctance to want to talk to me. However, would it interest you to find out that all I asked for was five lashes for each man and ten for the leader? There was also nothing mentioned of treason."

"But...but that's what it said on the order! That's what the captain said." Another soldier piped up.

"Is that so? General, have some of your men search our captain's tent. I want to see this order with my own eyes."

"Your will, commander."

"Those are my things!" Captain Julius protested. His voice stopped with a squeak as Galleon applied more pressure.

"They are but I need to solve this mystery. You men of the battalion, if you don't agree with your captain, you need to speak up now. If you stay silent, you are basically telling me that he is telling the truth. I swear you will not be punished for speaking your mind."

The men exchanged glances with each other. "He tore it up before our eyes..."

"You will be quiet you lying bastard lover!"

"No." Ferid whipped his sword around. It hovered dangerously close to one of the man's eyes. "Julius, _shut up! _If you speak out of turn again, I swear to the gods I'll chop off your balls and use them instead of worms the next time I go fishing in in the Feitas!"

Seeing Ferid's display of temper, the men snickered. The mood in the air changed and one by one people spoke about what they had seen and what had happened. Yes, Kyle did lead them more or less, but with their captain hacking apart orders, what were they supposed to do? It wasn't Captain Julius who had led them through the chaos of Sun Scorcher, but Kyle hopped up on rage. Kyle tried to be the one to keep everybody safe. Kyle put the burden on his shoulders. Kyle took all their punishments.

"I see. Captain Julius, you don't seem to have the faith of your men at all."

"They were all against me! You heard them all!"

"It seems to be that if you had some legitimate complaints, you would have asked for help. Instead we have a young man who might be dead. I need to know _why._"

"Commander!" One of General Archeon's men trotted up and handed over a written document.

Ferid looked it over and exhaled sharply through his nose. "Lucretia, could you come here a minute?"

The two bent their heads together and looked over the letter. They talked in low tones so no one else could hear. When they were finished, they both looked equally grim. Lucretia took the document and walked to where she could be seen and heard by everyone. "We have heard both sides of this story. We have a battalion of men who freely admit they didn't follow their captain but one of their fellow soldiers." She held up her fan as soon as the protest started. "What we don't understand clearly is why. What happened to make the situation so chaotic that it would come to this? I might have an answer."

She held up the wax seal. "In my hand is a wax seal I use to seal up messages. I send these to my messengers. They in turn hand them over to ONLY the people they are addressed to. This is a special wax seal. It's the remnant of a message that's apparently been torn to pieces."

Ferid noted Captain Julius started to look a little pale.

"On the back of this seal is part of the message. The date on it is the date of Sun Scorcher. Whoever got this message never read it and it was torn to pieces." She let the words sink in. Several of Captain Julius' noble friends turned their heads to stare at the captain.

"There are two things we can deduce from this. Either the captain tore up this message or Kyle grabbed the message from the captain and tore it up before it could be read."

"Of course he did! He wanted to seek glory for himself!" Captain Julius exclaimed. "That bastard boy didn't listen to anything I said!"

"That could very well be. But there's another little problem we have. There's a discrepancy between the punishment Ferid asked for and the punishment you decided to give. It is within a captain's rights to discipline his men as he sees fit as long as there is just cause. But a captain has no right to administer a punishment that would result in the death of a man.

"But I'll even be willing to wave that away. Kyle decided to take on the punishment of the entire battalion, creating a precedent. A captain has to act quickly and you did to restore order to your troops." Lucretia looked at the document in her hands.

"We come to another problem. According to this order, the crime is treason. Perhaps you decided to take advantage by using the knowledge of the law over those who aren't as skilled at jurisprudence. Treason is a high crime and can only be judged by the crown and only after there has been a trial. Treason is also only possible if one of these men were selling secrets to Armes, not disobeying orders."

Quite a number of soldiers were looking at each other, murmuring. Ferid kept his anger in check. He had to wait just a minute more.

"The only possible way to explain the discrepancy between the punishment asked for and the punishment given is if this order was forged. It does look very official and it contains a wax seal." Lucretia popped the seal of the order quite easily. "But I guess it would if you tore the seal from another letter and applied it to this one. Commander Ferid, on the back of this seal is yet another date to another note."

"What does that mean to you, Lucretia?"

"It would seem that to make this order look official, you would need a wax seal of the crown. The only possible way to do that would be to get one from another message and keep it. The only way to do that would be the man to get regular messages and save the seals from them in case they might be useful later on."

"Julius, you wrote your own orders? You lied to us!"

Before the noble soldiers could vent any more wrath in that man's direction, Ferid yelled for quiet. "I have heard the stories from all the men involved with this incident and have seen the evidence." His voice grew cold. "Captain Julius, you have abused the trust of the men of this army, my strategist and the crown. Your actions caused the deaths of I don't know how many men on the day of Sun Scorcher. Your continued disregard for orders brought chaos to the volunteer army, forcing them to command themselves without any prior training. Your actions this morning may have killed a man.

"I find you guilty of slander of your men. I find you guilty of disobeying direct orders. I find you guilty of gross negligence in the deaths of the battalion men in Sun Scorcher. I find you guilty of impersonating the crown and using our name to give your own orders. Most of all, I find you guilty of attempted murder of one Kyle of the Feitas. So it is witnessed."

"Seconded," said Galleon, wrenching the whimpering Captain Julius around. He wrapped the man's wrists with rope.

"Thirded," said General Archeon.

"I believe in equal justice." Ferid smiled. It looked positively bloodthirsty. "I sentence you to one hundred ten lashes and hard labor upon the conclusion of this war. Galleon! Take this man away!"

"It will be done."

"You won't even take half the lashes Kyle did before you pass out, you coward!" roared Garren. The battalion men erupted in curses and cheers.

Ferid allowed them the chance to vent. Gods knew they needed to get it out of their system. "This brings me to the nobles who sided with Captain Julius. Judging by your expressions, I will assume that none of you had any idea what had really happened. However, you aided and abetted in this plot, willingly or not. I am actually at a loss on how to punish all of you."

"Sir," spoke up one of the men. "In that fake order, it said twenty lashes for each man taking part in the plot. Since...since it turns out we were a part of that plot, I'd take my twenty lashes without complaint."

"Really." Ferid made note of the man who spoke up. "What's your name?"

"Tenner, sir."

"Very well, Tenner. I could accept that kind of punishment for this crime. What about the rest of you?" Ferid asked the nobles.

None of them gave a voice to their opinions but most of them started to nod in agreement.

"Then that's the course of action we'll take. General Archeon, please take these gentlemen away to await their punishment."

"Yes, Commander."

Gods did he feel tired. So many problems starting from one torn up message. He watched the battalion men cheer as the nobles were taken away. _So much hatred between us. _He couldn't solve that problem now or ever. He could, however, get this battalion following a competent leader.

"Men of the battalion, attention!" Ferid hid a smile as all their levity magically disappeared. "Good. Although it's true that there was a problem with your leadership, you are also at fault. All of you did follow counter orders and you did so at the detriment of the army. Yes, I know the circumstances behind it. But order has to be maintained. I can't have my own men trying to kill each other and do Armes' job for them.

"Every single one of you will be digging latrines from now until the end of the war, in addition to whatever tasks your new commander will assign to you."

Garren held up a hand and partially lowered it, as though unsure of how to catch Ferid's attention.

"Yes, Garren?"

"Beggin' your pardon, Commander, but who is our new commander going to be?"

"I will be assigning you someone from General Archeon's command. If no one can be found, then the battalion will move temporarily to the general himself."

The general had a good reputation among the army as being fair but firm to his men. The battlion men must have heard the same stories as a lot of murmuring and nodding of heads spread around the group.

"I want you all to get your supplies and break this camp. Start moving toward your new home."

"What about Kyle?"

In all the need to punish the guilty, Ferid didn't pay attention to where the young man went. "Galleon? Zahhak?"

"He was taken away to the healers tents, Commander," replied Zahhak.

"Good. He will stay there until such time as he's been pronounced fit to return to duty. Then he will be returned to the battalion."

Ferid only hoped things would be that simple. Gods, that poor young man.

* * *

The dark waters he'd thrown himself into lightened over time. The Feitas of his dreams washed him back onto a bed and returned his senses to him. First he felt the softness of blankets, then the clamor of noise. He tasted a lingering trace of blood in his mouth, smelled the sickness of other soldiers. Finally he opened his eyes. It took time to focus his vision.

Battleaxe sat next to his cot. "Hey, pup. Good t' see ya awake." She helped him sip a glass of water.

"What happened?" Kyle's memories were lost in a delirious nightmare of pain. Something about being in stocks.

"Some real bastard was whipping yer back to nothin'. He did a good job before he got stopped."

"No Scratch? He got stopped?" Wait. It began to all come back to him. "What about everyone else...ow, fuck!" Trying to move off his stomach proved impossible.

"Everyone else in the unit is all right. Things got straightened out. Your captain got taken away and a new one's in place."

"That's true? You swear?"

"Kyle, don't make me hit you on your back, boy."

Feitas, it was so good to hear those words. Somehow, some way, his stupid act of sacrifice managed to save everyone. "How bad did he get me?"

"Well, he didn't get yer face so you'll still look pretty," Battleaxe said, cackling. "The healers did a good job. You might have a couple of scars but the kind that'll fade in years."

Kyle knew that things would never be that simple, but he was content to just take what he could at that minute. "You."

"Me what, pup?"

"You did something. You saved us, didn't you?"

"I got lucky." She sat back in her chair. "Just happened to be at the right place at the right time. The real heroes were..."

"Don't want to hear anything else." Nothing else mattered except that once again, Battleaxe saved him from doing something particularly stupid. "Guess I must have caused enough trouble that you heard about it, hunh?"

"I heard stories. Did you really start being in charge of everyone?"

"Yeah. I felt like throwing up all the time. Didn't know what else I was supposed to do. Fucking noble _bastards_. Holding everyone hostage like that," he whispered. He ground the blanket in his fists. "I hope he gets everything he deserves."

"I'm sure he will, Kyle. But I think there's something you should know..."

"I know that nobles will always pull shit like this." As soon as he said the words, he knew that wasn't quite true. Florentine still had noble ties, but she was basically one of them. The lower classes. The people willing to work. And Mischa... "I'm sorry. I don't mean you when I say that."

"I hope not, boy. But you need to know..."

"What about the others? Garren and the other guys? Can I see 'em soon?"

Whatever Battleaxe had been trying to say, she left unsaid. "Sure. I'll tell them yer awake and want to talk to them."

"Good." He closed his eyes and settled back into his bed. First he'd take a little nap. Then he'd figure out what to do.


	10. Sudden Promotion

The battalion men gave him a hero's welcome once Kyle was cleared for duty. One of them had held onto his things, including the all-important drawstring pouch. It made him feel so much better that he hadn't lost everything.

Their new commander, Captain Sammael, put up with this display for a minute or two. Then he barked orders for a line up.

"This one's from General Archeon's group," whispered the man to Kyle's left. "Been pretty fair so far."

"We figured you'd better take a look to be sure," said the man behind him.

"Now that I have all of you back together, it's time to start working together instead of against each other." Captain Sammael's armor, though of higher quality, had seen its fair share of hits. One of the shoulder guards threatened to fall off but never did, due to sheer stubborness. "Yes, it's true that we'll be digging the latrines until the end of the war. We will also be fighting whenever and wherever our orders take us.

"To that end, we will be training daily to keep up our skills. I also want to talk to each one of you individually while I ascertain all your strengths and weaknesses." The captain turned his head toward Kyle. "You'll be first, Kyle of the Feitas."

_Well he doesn't waste time._ "Yes, sir," he murmured.

"The rest of you, clean up your tents. If everything's clean, start practicing with sword and glaive. Kyle, you're with me."

He was sure he wasn't imagining the mutterings of the battalion men as he followed Captain Sammael to his tent. He stood at rigid attention while the captain sat in his camp chair.

"At ease, Kyle. Sit down."

"Yes, sir." He felt sweat run down his still healing back. Water Runes did wonders for patching flesh back together but they couldn't make things perfect. If he was going to be feeling pain, he'd rather do it sitting down than standing at attention.

The captain stared at Kyle for a long minute before speaking. "I'm aware of everything's that happened with this battalion so far."

It didn't sound like a question, so he didn't offer any information.

"I understand that you were trying to keep everything running as smooth as possible under the circumstances. Is that true?"

"Yes, sir." Kyle held his breath, just waiting for the talk to turn into a list of commands and demands.

"Have you had any martial training at all before coming here?"

"I...I learned a little bit from Miss Florentine. She's navy and she stayed at the manor I was working at." Which was the truth.

"But other than that, you would say not much at all?"

Kyle shook his head.

"You seem to have a natural flair for command for someone with no training. Is this something you're interested in?"

Oh, here it was. The trap. Just as No Scratch blamed all the problems on him when it was really his fault, Kyle knew the same could happen again. Getting publically whipped in front of everyone was not an experience he cared to repeat. "No, sir."

The captain looked surprised at his answer. "Are you sure?"

_I'm sure I don't want another lesson in how nobles have all the power. _"Yes, sir. I only did what I had to do because everything was so confusing. All I did was try to look at other people and see what they were doing." No way would he bring up Seven Steps Ahead.

"So you'd say that you just happened to be very lucky."

Kyle nodded. Better to let this new captain think he had a fool's luck than any real skill.

"I see." The captain gave him another one of those piercing stares as though trying to convey words with his eyes alone. "I can assure you that I have the men's best interests at heart. I will work all of you as far as you are able but I am not a man who says no to suggestions from my men.

"Despite how much luck was involved in your situation, a lot of the men seem to admire you and listen to you. Tell them that I welcome their thoughts on how to run our battalion the best we can. You are dismissed."

As soon as he walked back to where the men practiced their weapons, they swarmed on him. "So what'd he tell you, hunh?" "Did he yell or make any demands?"

"Nothing like that." Kyle picked up a practice sword. "He seems genuine and says if we got suggestions, he'll listen to us."

"Is he telling the truth?"

Irritation colored his voice. "I can't see into the future. But he sounds like he'll keep his word. So we should all listen to what he has to say."

Maybe that was for the best. Trying to be in charge of everyone, as satisfying as it had been, also left him a wreck in a horrible situation. If Captain Sammael wanted to be the one in charge, Kyle would gladly hand over all command. All he'd do from now on was follow orders. No way was he going to get himself involved in another noble squabble. It was finally over. They could get back to beating the stuffing out of Armes.

The men had told him how Ferid himself had descended upon the camp to set things to rights. In Kyle's mind, it had nothing to do with him personally but all to do with No Scratch flaunting the law. At least this new leader of the Queen's Knights actually did something. So Kyle felt like the least he could do was continue to fight until the war's end.

He tried to focus on that. Without the distraction of running things, the gaping maw of black sorrow threatened to engulf him. At war's end, he'd have no job, no home and only his pay to his name. Where would he go and what would he do?

* * *

Ferid stared at the pile of papers spread out over the table. So many things to look over, now with the war finally going in their direction. He thought it would set a bad precedent if he set all of the papers on fire. As much as he really wanted to.

"Commander Ferid? You wished to speak with me?"

"Ah yes, Galleon! Come on in!" Finally, a decent excuse to not look at all the reports for a while.

"Commander, you asked me to look into that special matter," Galleon said as he stepped into the command tent.

"Yes, and what have you found out?"

The older man shook his head. "I think your assessment of the young man was premature."

"What do you mean?"

"In contrast to all of the stories, factual and otherwise, attributed to him, he has behaved like any other soldier under Captain Sammael. No suggestions, no bravado, no quick thinking or any of the other qualities you're looking for."

Ferid swore. "Dammit! I know he had them. Julius didn't whip everything out of his head."

"Except his nerve," Galleon answered. "Commander, if I may speak freely?"

"You are always welcome to do that in my presence, Galleon," Ferid replied.

"He is not worth the trouble. There are any number of fine soldiers in the army to choose from who have performed admirably during this war."

"I'm aware of that." Ferid drummed his fingers against the table. "But I just know that if given the chance, Kyle could be a great Queen's Knight."

"Would you pin all your hopes on one man? Especially in the position we're all in?"

This was the first time Ferid had ever heard the older man speak his disapproval of an action. On the one hand it was discouraging as Galleon's opinion held a lot of weight. On the other hand, it was encouraging because Galleon actually expressed an honest opinion and not "Yes Commander, No Commander."

"I know he can be great, Galleon. But what you say is also true. Let us let Kyle himself be the determining factor."

Galleon frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The war isn't quite over yet. There's still time to see if he can do something to prove once and for all which one of us is correct. If he does nothing, then I will go over every duty roster you can find and pick appropriate knights that way." That wasn't exactly how Ferid wanted to build up the Queen's Knights. He didn't want a repeat of the Senate conflicts in his own troops. However, he was enough of a realist to know he couldn't hope for the impossible.

"And if somehow you're right, Commander?"

Ferid flashed a bright grin. "Then you get the honor of beating him into shape any way you see fit. You'll already be training Alenia at war's end."

The older man sighed. "I think my hair is going to greyer, Commander."

"But it will make you look so distinguished among your peers and all the army!"

Galleon narrowed his eyes. "Says the man with no grey hair of his own."

"If I'm lucky I'll make it there and won't look half as good as you!" Ferid laughed.

"Do not poke fun at me, Commander."

* * *

Kyle did whatever he could to get everyone to follow Captain Sammael. It wasn't too hard; this captain knew what he was doing. Harder still was weathering the looks of the other men who'd looked to him for orders. He finally had to talk to them and explain.

No way would they ever get a second reprieve if they were seen to be flaunting command. If they honestly though the nobles cared about them, they were sorely deluded. All they cared about were bodies following orders. The only reason that (according to the stories he'd heard) Commander Ferid himself visited the camp was for that very reason. No Scratch hadn't been following orders.

"Do you think he would have cared if he had been following orders and decided to discipline us? A little public whipping for all of us?" Kyle snorted. "Of course not. All of us were lucky."

"At least this man's fair," said one of the men. The others followed slowly, their attentions moving back to following orders from the captain.

_Let someone else be in charge. Let someone else take on all the pain._

So much easier to just do what you were told. So much easier to sink into the pain that gnawed at his chest every night when he went to sleep. Days and days and days of the same and soon no one would ever remember there being a Blond Bastard.

Everything pointed in that direction. It suited Kyle just fine.

Another day, another battle. This time, morale began to lift. Rumors circulated that the war could end soon in Falena's favor. As long as they kept pushing Armes back, hope grew.

The battalion stood on the fringes, held in reserve. Kyle tossed his military issue katana from hand to hand, feeling adrenaline pool his belly. They had to wait for a signal and run to take ground, mopping up any remaining troops they found. Occasionally his blade caught the light and shone for a moment.

When he saw light reflected in the distance, he frowned and looked down at his blade. No, it wasn't him. He tapped Garren on the shoulder. "You see that?"

"See what, lad?"

"Out in the distance. Some flashing."

Garren narrowed his eyes. "I don't see anything but my eyes aren't that great. Raoul! Use your sight glass and see what that is in the distance."

The tall bearded man assembled the instrument and looked around. "Hunh. 'Slike, two groups out there." He handed the glass to Kyle, who took a look.

Two separate groups of people flickered and flashed light back and forth. One was on horses and the other was with a pile of objects. They were too far to figure out what the objects were. Only that they were in a large pile.

"'S supplies or somethin', right, Kyle?"

"I don't know." He lowered the sight glass. "The other one is some kind of cavalry. Maybe guarding the other group?" Something was odd about them. Why would they just be sitting out there and not joining the fight?

"Think it's important?" asked Garren.

"Captain told us to say here," someone murmured.

Unlike before, in another battle, they had solid orders. There was no threat of being overwhelmed. But still, something about the pile in the distance bothered Kyle. If it was food there'd be people loading it on carts, horses and mules to pull them. A huge pile of something and only a few people around it. Why would you have a huge pile of something in your army and have little in the way of guards?

"Can anyone run fast to where the captain is? Tell him everything that I'm gonna tell you and see if he wants us to do anything."

The sense of wrongness still churned in his gut, but this time, they couldn't just up and leave. They just had to wait and see. Wait for the runner to return. See what the Armes' men were planning.

"Kyle," said Raoul. "'Smovin'."

"What's moving?"

"Horses movin' for the battle. Not guardin' th' pile any more."

"Maybe it's just food or bedding or something stupid like that. It might be a lot of nothing," a man said to his friend.

Five minutes later, the runner returned with a message. "He took the time to write everything down. Damn, he's a cool one," he said, panting.

Kyle flipped open the ragged piece of parchment. All it said was, "Use your best judgment but don't leave the post unguarded."

_And he gave this right to me. I feel like this is some kind of trick but...ah screw it. _"All right guys! New plan. We're going to have a look at what's over there. If it's nothing, we can all just feel really stupid and get back here. If it's something, we'll figure out what to do once we know what it is."

Even though the battalion had a stable commander, even though he was the youngest of them all, the men jumped to attention. As though they'd been waiting for Kyle to give orders once again. Ten men would stay behind and the rest would go for the pile of supplies.

They didn't know if they'd be needed to bolster the lines or if the cavalry would return. It necessitated a vicious run while crouched down, taking advantage of all available cover. Kyle forced himself to take seven strides for every little rest break. _Deep-as-the-Feitas-high-as-the-Sun. Stop._ He repeated the mantra over and over until the group came within striking distance of the pile of...

"What is that?" whispered the man to his right.

Even being up close didn't answer the question. But it wasn't food or supplies that sat in a pile. The few people sitting around the pile were making sphere shaped packages filled with powder. The only thing that made sense to Kyle was they were some kind of weapon. If that was the case, they needed to get rid of whatever this was.

"Pass the word. These guys don't look armed. Let's just capture them and have them tell us what these things are. Agreed?"

The Armes supply guards spooked as soon as the battalion men leaped from their cover. The six of them held up their hands in surrender. "All right. We're not going to hurt you. We want to know what this is," Kyle said, pointing to the pile.

No one volunteered any information.

"They aren't talking. Maybe better to set fire to this thing and move along," said one of the men, trying to make a torch.

"Don't!" one of the prisoners screamed. "Don't set it on fire! You'll kill us all!"

"Shut up!" the others hissed.

"I don't feel like dying here!"

"Why is it dangerous to use fire?" Kyle knelt down by the talkative prisoner. "Why would it kill us all?"

The prisoner looked away from his fellow Armes' men. "Just trust me that it would? Please?"

"Kyle! The cavalry is running right back this way! And they got more with 'em!" Garren pointed to the distance.

"Well, shit." He looked at the prisoners. "You're coming with us. Does anyone have a Fire Rune on them!"

"I do!"

"Wait, I said don't use that!"

Kyle ignored the prisoner. "All right. How many have Water Runes?"

Including himself, the battalion boasted four Water Runes. It would have to do for the plan quickly forming and skipping ahead, step by step in Kyle's brain. Mindful of the cavalry approaching, they worked quickly to cast ice over every little package. If fire proved to be lethal for whatever these weapons were, ice should render them harmless. In theory.

"Kyle, we're running out of time!" Garren yelled.

"I know! Just one last thing." He used the last of his ice to create a little slide along the ground. "All right! On my count, kick everything in this pile along the slide! Ready? GO!"

Countless icy spheres of powder tumbled down and spread out into the field. The cavalry men jerked their horses around as though avoiding a castle wall.

Falenan men and the prisoners ran back to their side of the fight. Kyle tapped the Fire Rune user on the shoulder and pointed back at the disorderly pile of weapons. "Just hit one. Just so we scare them a little!"

"You got it." A flit of flame rose from the man's hand and soared toward the target.

"Are you crazy?! We have to run for cover!" yelled the talkative prisoner.

"We iced them over so we should be okay," said Kyle, yanking the Armes' man along.

"We have to run faster! We could still be too close if they start to ignite!"  
Ignite? In Kyle's mind, the only thing that could ignite were Fire Runes. Did setting the weapons on fire create some massive Fire Rune spell? That would explain why they were kept away from the rest of the army.

"Everybody run! RUN!"

The group met up with those still guarding their remaining position. They had enough time to knock them all off their feet and curl up on the ground, protecting their heads.

The explosion knocked the bottom out of the world. Force pressed them into the ground like a giant's hand. Sound disappeared into a high pitched whine. Dirt and dust covered him as though he'd been swimming through it.

When the unrelenting pressure finally stopped, they all cautiously poked their heads up. Had any been able to hear, they would have heard themselves yelling out, "You okay?" "What happened?" "Are we still alive?" "I can't hear anything!"

Using sign language and writing down questions helped the men reorganize themselves. They tied up the prisoners with belts and whatever scraps of rope could be found. Garren tapped Kyle on the shoulder and pointed to the field.

Kyle's eyes widened. The Armes' forces were starting to back off in the fight. Did blowing up all the weapons really take the fight out of them? Was it some sort of secret plan that they'd destroyed?

He still didn't know the answer by the time Captain Sammael came back to the men. His hearing had recovered enough to hear Raoul say, "...'sall this crazy bastard's fault, captain!"

* * *

"Tell me that again, Lucretia. You just told me what I want to hear so I want to make sure I'm not dreaming."

The strategist fluttered her fan and smiled. "I said that Armes is willing to talk peace now. Whether they'll actually take it will be up to how the agreement is worded."

Ferid closed his eyes and tilted back his head. "Thank you. What do we need to do now?"

"I believe a messenger will be forthcoming tomorrow. For now, rest. You have earned it for Falena, Ferid."

He didn't hear her leave the tent. Relief washed through him so strongly he felt like crying. He could see his wife again. He could see his adorable children again. True, they'd have to rebuild so much of the country, but that could be done. He'd seen firsthand the kind of people who lived here.

"Commander," said Galleon, entering the tent.

"Yes? Oh...is something wrong?"

Galleon grumbled and looked away. "You said you wanted some news to see if your prospect might do something to distiguish himself."

The grin across Ferid's face stretched larger. "Yes. Do go on."

"In the battle of last week, Armes planned on using highly dangerous materials to lob at our soldiers. Apparently they were like launching fire spells without the need of a rune and that caused more damage."

"I see. I think I saw a few of them used." He'd been downright thankful that only a few were used. Had enough determined men thrown the non-rune spells against his troops, it would have been a disaster.

"Apparently," Galleon continued, "There was a stockpile of the weapons. They were destroyed in a raid on an Armes' position."

"Who destroyed them?"

"A group of men from Captain Sammael's volunteer army battalion. And...I hate to say it, but Kyle was among them."

"He led them! I know he had to! Do you see, Galleon? He has something in his head and heart that can't be snuffed out." Ferid drummed his fingers against the table. "Obviously he's young, but as I said before, he can be trained to be even better."

"So how did you want to proceed?"

"Hmmm. Let's wait until the war is officially over. Zahhak's idea for inviting Alenia can happen at the same time. I want to invite as many people to the palace as I can, so they can see what they were defending. Then I'll invite our two new trainees into the Queen's Knights."

Galleon sighed. "As you say, Commander."

"Why so reluctant, my friend? I was very serious about letting you train him into the ground, if that's what it takes."

"I don't know if he's going to be disciplined or skilled enough for life in the palace," Galleon replied. "I can train him all I want to, but if he won't listen, then there's little I can do."

"You forget one thing." Ferid stood up and clapped Galleon on the shoulder. "I found this place pretty intimidating when I first got here and I adapted. I'm sure he'll be fine."

* * *

The words were spread all over camp. The words everyone had wanted to hear: We won. The war is over.

The army turned itself into the largest impromptu celebration in the queendom. Feast quality items were no where to be seen, but every camp had a bit of ale and willing to share with their neighbors. Cooks started making cauldrons full of solid stew. Generals and captains alike turned a blind eye toward their troops.

For one night, the rules relaxed. Cards and dice seemed to spontaneously generate. Men and women traveled freely from camp to camp. The overwhelming relief of surviving gave way to the overwhelming need to celebrate life. Moans and groans could be heard from many tents, men with their ladies and any other combination a body could think of. All was welcome for one night.

Kyle sat under a tree, lazily drinking a mug of ale. Some strapping swordswoman must have like what she saw for she claimed Kyle for her tent. Caught up in the euphoria, Kyle wholeheartedly agreed. He had to admit, he would always remember that wild ride, even if he'd already forgotten her name.

"Kyle, taking it easy?" Captain Sammael peered down at him.

"Oh uh...just relaxing, sir! I can move if you..."

"No, you're fine. At ease." The captain slumped down to the ground next to him. "Dammit. My tolerance must be shot."

Kyle grinned in the dark. "Celebrating, sir?"

"Just a bit. I already know you have. Half the camp heard you."

Feitas! But she had been thorough and that had been worth it so...

"Just trying to do my part, sir!"

"Of course you are." The captain rubbed his eyes. "That and everyone else around here. Soon enough, we'll pick up and move out and everyone will go their separate ways. Back to fields and forest and the river itself."

Where would he go? The thought started to sober Kyle up. Could he go back to the manor? He supposed he could but that really wasn't a place he wanted to return. Could he join a river crew and cruise along the Feitas? Maybe but who knew when normal traffic would return? His plan to join Mischa's household was forever lost. Mischa...

"What about you, captain?" he asked, trying to distract himself from his brooding thoughts.

"What about me?"

"What will happen to you?"

"I'll head back to the capital where we'll be reassigned new posts. Maybe to help rebuild the country or guard the borders. I'll find out when I get there." Sammael looked over at him. "I wouldn't mind having you with me."

What?

"What?" Kyle asked, speaking his thoughts aloud.

"I don't claim to know what kind of background you have but with a name like the Blond Bastard, it's pretty obvious. The army would be a good place for you and I could use an able assistant."

"An assistant?"

"That's right." The captain leaned back against the tree. "Someone I can trust to watch over my troops and solve problems as they come up."

"But...but don't you have to be a noble to do that?" That's what he'd heard anyway. Still, the idea seemed planted in his head. He didn't have anywhere to go back to. Being in the army would always keep him busy, feed and clothe him and give him some kind of focus. True, he'd be surrounded by nobles, but if he could stick by the ones who weren't trying to kill him, he might be all right.

"Not for everything. As for the position I'm considering, I could certainly recommend you to my superiors. You have some time to think about it before we end up at the capital."

"The capital? I thought only the army leaders were going back?"

The captain groaned and stood up. "I was going to make the announcement tomorrow but I might not be very sober for quite a while. A number of battalions are being invited to Sol-Falena to receive the personal thanks of the queen and king. We are one of them for all that we've managed to accomplish during the war."

Personal thanks from the royal couple themselves? Maybe they'd even get some medals or rewards. Holy shit, that could mean all kinds of good for every man and his family. Enough to wipe out all the bad under the rule of No Scratch. "Really?"

"Really. Go ahead and tell your friends."

He didn't need any more encouragement. His stride wobbled here and there but he ran to find Garren. Provided the old man hadn't drunk himself asleep.

* * *

Sol-Falena was the most beautiful city in the entire world. That's what Kyle thought when he first laid eyes on it and his opinion hadn't changed since walking around it with the men. At night, the palace glittered with decoration and the sparkling water flowing inside.

"These are somma the finest lookin' women I've ever seen," whispered one of the men.

"And they're probably all married to rich nobles," said another.

Not even being surrounded by nobles could dampen Kyle's enthusiasm for the event. He kept up an internal monologue, telling Mischa about every little thing he saw, knowing that somehow, his friend would know about it.

_I think I might have a job soon. A real one. This noble captain who isn't too corrupt or shortsighted wants me to help him. It's not the most ideal thing to do but I don't think I'll mind too much. _Kyle picked a quiet corner to sit and eat his plate full of food. _Captain just says he has to talk to a few other noble guys and things will get all set._

He thought he might be able to find Battleaxe somewhere in the sea of heroes. For all that she did, he hoped she'd be rightly honored. The only word on what she was up to came from Garren. Apparently they had bumped into each other during the celebration and had been comparing stories. All Kyle knew was she was well and one piece. Would she go back to the manor after all her hard work? Just to go back and train some guards?

_You never met her, Mischa, but you'd like her. She deserves a lot better. Maybe I can tell the captain about her. She'd be good at everything!_

"Kyle!" Garren fought his way through the crowd toward him. "You better eat fast! King's gonna make a speech and start handing out medals to the groups!"

Choking down the remains of his roast turkey, Kyle wiped his face, straightened his uniform and followed Garren back to the battalion. Men started to get in line. Kyle took a place beside Captain Sammael and he nodded back in approval.

He couldn't hear much of the speech, but it must have been good, the way some of the men cheered. Come to think of it, this was his first time actually seeing the king in person. The king, more popularly known as the Commander of the Queen's Knights, gestured out with his arm and his voice grew louder.

_They say he was just a regular guy from another country who won Queen Arshtat in the Sacred Games. But he looks like a noble. Maybe if you associate with nobles enough, it just sort of rubs off on you._

He hoped that wouldn't be the case if he worked with Captain Sammael. Kyle never wanted to be so far removed from his past that he forgot what kind of person he really was. Maybe that was the biggest problem with a lot of nobles. They couldn't all have been born rich, but they sure all acted like it.

The speech over, the commander walked through the men, saying a few words and handing out medals. As he made his way closer, Kyle could hear his voice, commending each of the groups on their various accolades in battle.

_Why does he sound familiar? Maybe...maybe I must have heard him give a speech before. Or yell out some commands at the start of a battle. _That made the most amount of sense. Royal or not, the commander always would say something at the beginning of a fight. Rune users would make sure the words were heard by all, even if you couldn't see the man in the press of the crowd.

Flanking the commander were two men in the black and gold of the Queen's Knights armor. If Kyle knew next to nothing about the commander, he knew enough about the knights. Sir Zahhak, stories said, waded into the battle and never broke his composure. A newer knight, he'd performed impressively during the war with Armes. Publicly he never showed much emotion. A more technical kind of fighter, according to what soldiers said. The kind of man you wanted to cross swords with and be happy you got thrown across an arena. Just to say you had a chance to fight with him.

But his popularity paled in comparison to Sir Galleon. The man had served as a Queen's Knight for years, coming from the town of Lordlake. Some said that if Sir Galleon were to up and become the Commander, not many would protest. He dealt with everyone with the same, noble and commoner alike. His knowledge of combat dwarfed many others. Even though his hair was starting to go more and more grey, no one had any doubt Sir Galleon would continue to serve the current royal couple faithfully.

All three of them finally got to their battalion. Now that he thought about it, it seemed like they were put in last. Maybe because they had to suffer all that punishment. It didn't matter now. All of them stood rigid with attention as the commander came near. He stopped in front of Captain Sammael.

"I've heard so many impressive things about your men," said the commander.

"I didn't have the privilege of working with them from the start but I agree, Your Highness. We have accomplished a lot together."

That was their captain! Not trying to grab the glory but always willing to share it around. Kyle felt a glow of pride. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad working with him. Provided things would go his way.

The commander laughed. "Indeed, indeed. And the soldier beside you?"

Captain Sammael put an arm on Kyle's shoulder. "If all goes well, he will be my new assistant when I return to duty at my usual post, Your Highness."

Something about the words brought out the oddest look in the commander's face. What, did this guy think he wasn't good enough? Was there some kind of problem? Kyle felt his hands ball up into fists. No. He couldn't let someone tell him he wasn't good enough. He did his very best, hadn't he? Lost his brother, get his back flayed open and survive the war and then to have someone tell him no?

"I regret to inform you that there might be a bit of change to your plans."

Captain Sammael stared at the commander. "I believe he is more than qualified for the task at hand. With all due respect, Your Highness, what could possibly change my mind?"

Kyle relaxed his hands. Somehow he'd gained the total faith of the captain. Someone would finally stick up for him.

The commander smiled. "I mean no disrespect for your choice, Captain Sammael. It's just that I need a new knight more than you need a new assistant."

Wait, what?

"You need a new...oh. OH. Oh, I see." The captain bowed his head.

Kyle did NOT see what both of them seemed to. He looked at both of them, his eyebrows raising.

"I will find you an able assistant to take his place, captain."

"I am ever so grateful for your help, Your Highness."

The commander nodded and turned his attention toward Kyle. "Will you come with me?"

"Me? For...what? Your Highness," he added quickly.

That seemed to amuse the man and he grinned. "Oh, I think you'll understand it quite quickly."

"I'm not sure..."

Kyle nearly fell forward. Someone had kicked the back of his knee. "Kyle!" the captain hissed near his ear. "Go with him now. That is your sovereign asking you to go! So you better go and don't look back."

Was he getting punished? Honored? He looked to the two Queen's Knights but neither of them offered so much as a hint of what was going on. Hesitant, he followed the commander, who put an arm around his shoulders.

He couldn't see much, surrounded by the three men in black and gold armor. He heard a lot of whispers as they walked to the dais. The light of so many candles dazzled him, making it hard to get a good look at who he thought might be Arshtat on her throne. Kyle could make out the form of a younger woman standing guard next to her. All he got was an impression of red-orange hair and a modified black and gold uniform.

Sir Galleon put a hand on Kyle's shoulder and stood next to him while the commander talked about the great honor of selecting one of his army to serve him personally. Somehow the words didn't make sense until the older man whispered to him. "You're going to be one of us now."

If any other man or woman in Falena had been chosen for such a lofty position, maybe they would cry, say an oath, be profuse with praise.

Kyle tried to swallow with a mouth gone completely dry. _What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened?_


End file.
